


Autumn Blooms

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Agent Carter - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV), Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 80,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4968082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the small Southern town of Westeros, families are recovering from tragedy, friendships are forming, and people are getting second chances at love, in particular two widows, Catelyn Stark and Cersei Lannister.  I won't say which ones, but other fandoms may make little cameo appearances throughout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Weeks' Detention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebraveandthebroiled](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebraveandthebroiled/gifts), [sunkelles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/gifts), [YOLO1882](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YOLO1882/gifts).



Principal Pycelle looked back and forth between the two mothers, who sat fuming in his office.  These were never his favorite sorts of meetings because no matter how often these affluent Southern mothers might kick their kids in the britches, Lord help you if you were the one in the unenviable position of having to suggest that they do so.  They sat in twin wooden chairs with red leather cushions, a pair of prim bookends, seething in the yellow autumn light slanting through the blinds that hung in the tall windows beside his old oak desk.

Catelyn Stark was the first to break the silence after the lengthy pause.  “Mr. Pycelle, I’m sure Mrs. Lannister wants to make sure her boy is treated fairly, just like any other parent,” she began carefully, trying to contain her simmering rage.  “But he has been harassing my daughter since the beginning of the school year and I do not want there to be any mistake about that.”  She fixed her blue-green eyes on Pycelle’s face with an intensity that even made him quake a little in his loafers.  “I expect you to handle this appropriately.”

Cersei Lannister, seated three feet to Catelyn Stark’s right, troubled herself less with hiding her simmering rage.  She was a golden-haired Georgia belle, a steel magnolia to the core, but she sported thorns bigger than switchblades itching for an excuse to pop out.  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Stark, but what proof do I have that Joffrey even did what your daughter claims he did?  I’m not going to stand for him receiving detention on her word and nothing else.”  She paused, smiling a smile that dripped contempt.  “How do we know, Mr. Pycelle, that the girl’s even telling the truth, for pity’s sake?”

Pycelle sighed.  “Mrs. Lannister, I’ve already spoken with a number of students who saw Joffrey kick Sansa’s music stand over in orchestra.”

“A childish prank,” Cersei replied dismissively, “hardly worthy of suspension.  It could have been an accident.”

Pycelle sighed again, heavier this time.  “It wasn’t just that, it was the language.”  He’d really almost rather be stuck in a locked room with vipers than with these two angry women, particularly Mrs. Lannister.  She had too much of her father in her, and he’d never been able to deal with him, either.

Catelyn glared at her.  “I understand your boy’s been through a lot recently, but that’s no excuse for the type of things he said to her, which I cannot and will not repeat.”

Catelyn Stark was more diplomatic, but the end result was still the same.  Misery for him.  In the end, he held firm in the face of Cersei Lannister’s seething contempt and veiled threats, and declared that he would administer disciplinary action.  He resisted Catelyn Stark’s insistence that he be suspended, and instead settled on two weeks of detention for Joffrey’s behavior toward Sansa.  Neither parent would be satisfied and both would leave his office hating him; in other words, he’d done an exemplary job.  He stared into his fish tank, looked eye to eye with his goldfish for several moments, and began counting the days until retirement again.  
  


**

 

Catelyn marched out to the car, her spine stiff and her lips still pressed firmly together.  She tried to remember to breathe, but it was never particularly easy.  She had six children, no husband, a business to run and godforbid she wanted to ever take a moment to do anything for her own enjoyment.  She saw Cersei Lannister, four spaces down, fuming as she got into her Range Rover.  

Most of her wanted to simply head back to the coffee shop.  She’d closed it for the morning so she could take this meeting, and she hated it leaving to sit like that; not making money, while boxes of raw cane sugar and Colombian fair trade coffee sat in the back room, not getting unpacked.

She wanted to talk to Cersei Lannister again.  Her mother wolf instincts were ready to tear the woman’s throat out, but Catelyn was no fool.  She reminded herself again and again that this wasn’t Chicago, it was a small town, and her family was going to have to live with everyone else’s.  Especially the Lannisters, whose patriarch had a grip on half the properties in town in one way or another.  And with three of the six kids in her care being…. well, different, in one way or another, she didn’t need to be making a lot of waves.  She needed diplomacy.  She needed to fit in.

She lost her husband, too, Cat reminded herself.   It’s no wonder the boy is acting up.   She gamely tried to couch things from a sympathetic angle as she approached the sharply dressed blonde.  “Cersei,” she called, quickening her steps on the wet asphalt in the parking lot.

Cersei shot her a disgusted look and continued climbing into her truck.  “I don’t have anything else to say right now, Catelyn.  You need to talk to your daughter about making problems for my son,” she said coldly, and pulled the door shut.  

Catelyn couldn’t tell whether the light blush in Cersei’s cheeks was due to the heat (normal, for early fall) or the after-effects of anger.  “Cersei, you and I both know that Joffrey has a problem.  And it’s not so hard to understand, with losing his father-”

Cersei’s green eyes glared at her through the open window.  “His father did us all a favor by dropping dead, and I’ll thank you not to mention him again.”

“Nevertheless,” Catelyn pressed, perturbed, but undeterred, “sometimes boys struggle when they lose their fathers.  My own kids-”

“I’m not interested in getting to know you,” Cersei interrupted, starting the massive engine.  She fixed her with a stare that was at once disinterested and casually murderous.  She was a lion that wouldn’t think twice about killing.   The truck did the roaring for her.  She started to roll up the window.

Catelyn placed a firm hand on the tinted glass as it rose, and Cersei stopped putting the window up for a moment.  “You might want to consider it,” she pressed.  “We’ve got at least four more years of this and it would be much better if we could find a way to deal with each other.”

Cersei resumed the window’s ascent.  “I have one.  It’s called, rolling up my window and driving away.”

 


	2. Boca Bistro

Cersei’s contention, if she were asked, was that she came to Boca Bistro every day after work for the rice croquettes, which were delicious, lightly fried, and filled with manchego cheese and salty chorizo.

This contention, of course, fooled nobody, as she typically washed them down with two or three glasses of Oberyn Martell’s oaky, plummy house tempranillo. Her father had been skeptical that a tapas bar would fly in a town like Westeros, but she’d chosen to grant them the seed loan nevertheless, and the place was doing well and keeping up with its payments. It gave her no small measure of schaedenfreude to prove him wrong. And the fact that she now had someplace to tie one on after work that was tastefully decorated, played good music at an unobtrusive volume and served some good snacks was a very nice bonus.

At first she’d found Oberyn’s constant flirting irritating, but she quickly adjusted, since that that was simply the way he was with literally everyone, male or female. Which wasn’t to say he didn’t mean anything by it (she’d heard that he and his wife Ellaria had sort of an open marriage), just that he wasn’t pursuing her particularly, or expecting anything out of her as a result. There was something oddly comforting about that.

Being both the underachieving children of relatively wealthy men, Cersei had known him for many years, as they'd gone to the same tony prep schools and even, probably not very coincidentally, the same middling university. Their long history of casual but not unfriendly acquaintance had, she suspected, played a role in his choosing Westeros, of all places, to open his tasteful little joint.

He slid over to her table today, carafe in hand, pulling himself away from the group of car salesmen enjoying their own happy hour on the other side of the restaurant. “You want another glass?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

Oberyn shrugged. “This Pope, I’m not too sure.” He grinned and poured her another glass.

She raised it in his general direction, took a sip, and rewarded his joke with a dry half-smirk. She noticed after another sip or two that he was lingering. “What?” she demanded.

He sighed, then dropped himself into the other seat at the tiny table, still smiling. “Listen, Cersei,” he began, “you know I love seeing your beautiful face here every day, but… it’s not healthy. I know you got a lot of stress and stuff at home, but… coming here and drinking and frankly, eating this food every day? It’s gonna kill you.”

“Quite a sales pitch, Oberyn,” she replied coolly.

“No no no no, listen. It’s just not healthy.” He regarded her a moment, with what actually seemed like genuine concern. “Listen, you know I’m the musical director over at the theater. We’re having open auditions next week for Mame. You should come try out.”

Cersei gave out a dry laugh and rolled her eyes. “Oberyn, please. Are you really that hard up, you’re begging me to audition? You don’t even know if I can still sing.”

Oberyn grinned again, mischief apparent in his warm eyes. “Does it matter? Your father owns the theater and I am the musical director. Even if you sing like Ellaria, we would still give you a chorus part or something.”

Ellaria glided past him with a tray of bread and olives, smacking him affectionately in the back of the head. “Fuck yourself, Oberyn.”

“Only if you watch,” he answered, winking, as she walked away.

Cersei rolled her eyes again. It was really unnecessary for them to act that way. Buried beneath that, she was also jealous as hell, but she wouldn’t begin to acknowledge that right now. Right now, she had her insulted pride to protect. “A chorus part?” she snorted. “I led the Bellas to four state championships, you know.”

Oberyn nodded, remembering well the success that the women's a cappella group had had with Cersei at the helm. “See? You’re bound to get something. Come on, Cersei. It’ll be much better than sitting here drinking every day. Maybe you’ll make some new friends.”

She turned it over for a moment, feeling that he had somehow played her ego against her. “I’ll think about it,” she said finally.

“Good!” he exclaimed, pleased. He got up and patted her on the back. “Next Tuesday, at six. You should spend your week getting those pipes warmed up.” He winked, and walked away.

 _Make new friends,_ she thought. _Sounds dreadful._


	3. Shots Fired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse of home life at the Stark house, and find a new challenge in Catelyn and Cersei's attempts at diplomacy.

When Catelyn pulled up in the driveway, Sansa was chasing Rickon across the lawn.  He was shirtless, pantsless, and covered in what appeared to be blue paint.  “Robb,” she called to her eldest son, who was emerging from the side of the house, “you didn’t let Rickon watch Braveheart with you guys again, did you?”

Robb shook his head.  “Sorry, this one wasn’t us.  Snow’s doing homework and I just got back from track practice.”

Before Catelyn could recommend a course of action for Sansa that didn’t involve her ruining her clothing, Arya emerged from behind Robb, wielding the garden hose with the spray nozzle.  As Rickon went bounding past, she unleashed its cold, wet fury on him.  He shrieked at an ear-splitting volume, but at least most of the blue paint was blown off, and Sansa was able to wrap a towel around him without ruining it, and drag him back inside.

Cat glanced around.  “Where’s Bran?”

Everyone shrugged.  “Probably reading," Arya offered.

She nodded.  “I’m going to assume that this excitement means that nobody has put water on for the spaghetti?”

Arya raised her hand.  “Actually, Sansa asked me to do it before she went chasing Rickon outside.”

Catelyn nodded.  So it was going to be a reasonable evening at the Stark compound.  It was more accurate to call the residence this, rather than a “home”, being that it required two buildings to house everyone comfortably.  The front house was where the two girls stayed, along with wild little Rickon, and Bran, who needed the wheelchair ramps that the front building was equipped with.  The two eldest, Robb, and Snow, stayed in the little “mother in law” cottage in the back.  Snow was the child of Ned’s sister Lyanna, who had died shortly after giving birth.  Ned had insisted on adopting the child, and Catelyn felt she could hardly say no under the circumstances.  Snow and Robb were the same year, and had loved each other to death since they were children.

Everyone ate dinner together in the front house, when their schedules allowed it, which they did more often than not.  Snow and Sansa worked part time at the Silver Trout, Catelyn’s coffee shop in the middle of town.  Robb was on the track team, but he was a senior who took his responsibilities as “man of the house” rather seriously and Catelyn often relied on him to shuttle Bran to physical therapy, or Arya to karate practice, or pick up Sansa from model U.N. where she represented Germany, or drop Snow off for a volunteer shift at the animal shelter.  The older kids helped with meal prep, so that Catelyn wasn’t stuck doing everything.

Catelyn swept inside and glanced at the large dry erase board in the hallway on the way to the kitchen.  It looked like someone’s office pool for the Super Bowl.  It was a giant grid that showed everyone’s schedules for the week.  It was absurd, but it was the only way she could possibly keep track of everything.  Smartphones didn’t cut it.

Gathered around the long table in the dining room, Catelyn looked around at everyone.  They seemed in generally good spirits.  Even Arya was slightly less sullen than usual.  The mood was boisterous as they helped themselves from the bowls of pasta doused  with the meat sauce Catelyn had made during her Monday cooking bender (she closed the Silver Trout on Mondays rather than Sundays so that she could get the weekend crowds).  The family’s pack of dogs sat curled around the kids’ feet, waiting for a nibble of meatball or a crust of bread to drop from the table, which inevitably did, whether by accident or one child or the other’s lack of resistance to their pretty, plaintive looks.  

“So, mom…” Sansa ventured, as things quieted down just a bit as everyone tucked into their meals.  “How did the meeting with Dr. Pycelle this with morning go?”

Catelyn sighed.  “Well,” she replied, pulling a wedge of seeded Italian bread from the basket in the middle of the table, “Joffrey’s getting two weeks of detention.”

Robb looked up from his plate.  “That’s it? After what he said?”

Catelyn sighed.  “Yes, that’s it.”  She looked around the table at the pairs of eyes that had turned to focus on her.  “And none of you will be retaliating against him any further, do I make myself clear?”

Robb nodded, but it wasn’t her track star son that she was worried about.  He’d gotten into a fight or two over the years defending his siblings (lately it seemed mostly to be about Snow), but he was a serious, sober kid and was far more likely to try and talk a situation out.  It was her youngest daughter she was worried about; Arya, a freshman, a green belt karate champ, and a girl fiercely committed to the idea that nobody was allowed to torment her big sister except for her.

Nymeria placed her chin in Arya’s lap, as if sensing the anger rising in her chest and trying to coax a good petting out of her to calm her down.  It worked.

“It’s bullshit, but whatever, Mom.  If you say I have to leave him alone, I’ll leave him alone.”

“Look,” Catelyn pressed.  “I grew up here, but it’s very different from when I was a kid.  And you all, you’re Chicago kids.  We need to fit in, here.  We need to become part of the community.  All of you have to be working toward that.”

“What about his mom?” Sansa asked.

“What about her?” Catelyn replied.

“I just… Did she understand what he did?  Were you able to talk to her?”

Catelyn paused, debating whether to describe the exchange she’d had with Cersei Lannister in the parking lot.  “Not really,” she acknowledged.  “She was a bit hostile in the moment.”

Sansa nodded thoughtfully.  

“You should send her some lemon bars,” she decided after a moment.

This was more than Arya could take.  “You want to send pastries to the mother of the guy who was bullying you?  Jesus Christ, San.”

“Not me.  Mom.  To help smooth things between her and Ms. Lannister.  Catch more flies with honey and whatever.”

But Catelyn had already grabbed the ball and was halfway down the field with it.  “No no, a peace offering, it’s a good idea.  Just because you and Joffrey don’t get along there’s no reason she and I can’t talk to each other like adults.  Lemon bars it is.”

Bran whistled.  “Wow, mom.  OK.”  He clearly was in Arya’s camp and thought the idea sounded nuts, but wasn’t going to bother objecting any further than that.

“Lemon bars!”  Rickon howled happily.  “I WANT LEMON BARS NOW!”

“Rickon, eat your dinner,” Catelyn answered.

After dinner, Catelyn took out the kitchen implements she needed for making the lemon bars.  Snow wandered in.  “Aunt Cat, can I help?”

“You know nothing about baking, Snow,” Catelyn laughed.

Snow looked hurt.  “Come on, there must be something I can do.”

Catelyn poured white sugar and butter into a large mixing bowl and then patted Snow’s shoulder.  “Well, I see you’ve been working out a bit.  Let’s put those arms to work, you can cream the butter and the sugar.”  

Cat stood back and measured the lemon juice and some of the other ingredients while Snow worked.  Snow was the eldest of Catelyn’s “different” children.  It had been a year ago that she’d found Snow, who was then still using her given name, Rhaella, in Robb’s bedroom, trying on one of his Sunday suits.  The poor girl struggled to explain what she was doing, and broke down in tears on Catelyn’s shoulder.  Catelyn had hugged her, and soothed her, “I know something about this, sweetie.  My Uncle Brynden used to be my Aunt Brenda.  It’s OK.”  She felt the ace bandages underneath the white dress shirt.  “We’ll go online and order you some proper binders, ok?  I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

As it turned out, though, her niece's identity was something a bit more complicated than that, and what made her comfortable wasn’t necessarily the same thing from day to day.  Catelyn had thought she was so progressive, so understanding, with her transgender uncle and all that, but she found herself in new territory.  Some days Rhaella curled her hair and wore makeup and skirts and turned a lot boys’ heads.  Other days she dressed in Robb’s clothes and wore the binder Catelyn had bought her, hid her hair under a skate beanie and wore combat boots with lifts in them, and turned a lot of girls’ heads.  Other days, it was ponytail and flip flops and it was hard to tell what look she was after.   It wasn’t long after this that Rhaella had decided to change her name to the less gendered “Snow”– Ned and Catelyn had decided to let her keep it as a middle name after they’d adopted her and made her a Stark– and a new routine began.

After a bit of trial and error, they discovered that the easiest way for everyone was for Snow to post a selfie each morning and note the preferred pronouns for the day.  Anyone who followed Snow on Instagram would know whether they were looking to be addressed as he, she, or they on that particular day, and surprisingly, family and friends got used to it pretty quickly.  

However, it did cause a bit of a stir at school.  Hence, Robb getting into a few dust-ups.  

But whether Snow was feeling boyish, girlish, or other-ish, they were still a sweet, honest, helpful and caring kid who was willing to learn.  And today, they were doing a great job with creaming the butter and the sugar.

 

****

 

Cersei sat in her office, looking for several minutes at the tray of lemon bars on her desk.  “Taena,” she finally called out to her secretary, “did you see who dropped these off?”

“Oh, sure,” Taena answered, “it was one of the Stark kids.”

Cersei opened the note.  “A small peace offering and hopes for a more amicable future,” read the little card, which was of course in very neat handwriting on some sort of organic paper.

She fumed.  She bit into a lemon bar.  It was delicious.  She fumed some more.

“I know what you’re trying to pull, Catelyn Stark.”

  


***

 

The next day, a floral arrangement arrived at the Silver Trout, addressed to Catelyn.  It was gorgeous, and clearly expensive, full of exotic lilies in varying shades of blue that complemented the blue and burgundy color scheme of the Silver Trout’s interior.   There was a note attached.  “Thanks ever so much for the lovely lemon bars.  The kids and I will enjoy them tremendously.”  

Sansa was working a shift when they showed up.  “That’s good, Mom!”  She sniffed at the lilies, whose perfume was fairly strong.  “Isn’t it?”

“This note is incredibly passive aggressive,” Catelyn decided, re-reading it again.  “It says ‘ever so much’.  Who says that unless they’re being sarcastic?”

Sansa shook her head.  “I think you’re reading into it too much.”

Catelyn slapped the note down on the glass countertop.  “The hell I am.”  

 

**

 

Two days later, a chocolate mousse cake arrived at Cersei’s office, with a note.  “The flowers were absolutely stunning, we can’t tell you enough about how much we appreciate such a thoughtful touch.  Hope you and the kids enjoy this cake.  It’s quite rich, so be sure to save a piece for Taena.”  With a little smiley face after it.

“A fucking smiley face!”  Cersei raged.  “A smiley face!”

At home that evening, after dinner, she got a surprise visit from Tyrion, her brother.  He never bothered to knock, instead strolling in and finding her in the kitchen, angrily banging around, searching for who knew what.  

“Hello, sister dear,” he ventured.  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

A 12 inch baking sheet went hurtling past his head.  He ducked.

"I'm looking for Gammy's recipe book!" she ranted.  "Fucking Stark bitch thinks she's going to send me a fucking chocolate mousse cake!"

Tyrion blinked.  "Um, I see."  He didn't, clearly.

"Thinks going to out-polite me, does she?" she continued testily.  “She’s getting Gammy’s peach cobbler!  Let’s see what she's got to say after I send her one of these!”

Tyrion backed away slowly, out toward the door.  “Yes, well… I see I’ve caught you at a bad time… I’ll just be going, then…”

Cersei didn’t even hear him as she continued banging about the kitchen, swearing under her breath.  
Shots fired, she thought.  _It's on._


	4. Tyrell Farms & Floral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn pays a visit to the florist's that becomes a date with destiny.

Margaery Tyrell was young, gorgeous, and had a near-magical touch with flowers.  With her pretty little berry mouth and sparkly blue eyes, she was the irresistible face of Tyrell Farms & Floral.  Her family had been in the flower business for generations, and while a few other florists had come and gone in the town of Westeros, the Tyrells were known throughout the county for having the best flowers, the most beautiful arrangements, and Margaery always remembered a client’s name and tastes and what they last bought, even if it had been two years ago.

“Hi, Kevan,” she’d exclaim as if she’d just seen you yesterday, “how’d your wife like those Calla lilies?”

It was just good business, and Margaery was almost as good as that end of things as she was at the actual flowers.  Her grandmother had taught her everything there was to know on both fronts.  It didn't hurt that both she and her brother Loras, at Grandma Olenna's insistence, had been taking classes in both horticulture and business management at the local university.

When Cersei Lannister had come in looking for a floral arrangement to send over to the Silver Trout, Margaery knew the color scheme inside the cafe and knew the arrangement in the right colors to complement it.  

And now, with Catelyn Stark standing in front of her, she had one guess.  “You’d like to send some flowers to Ms. Lannister?”

Catelyn stopped.

Margaery gave her that deep-dimpled smile.  “I only guessed because I was the one who helped with that lovely arrangement she wanted to send you last week.”

Catelyn sighed.  “I was entertaining it.  We seem to have gotten ourselves into a bit of an escalating loop of competitive politeness.”

Margaery laughed a silvery little laugh like a sleigh bell, and leaned forward against the counter, showing what was probably a little too much cleavage.  “Well, you wouldn’t be real Southern gals if you didn’t.  But for Ms. Lannister, you’d be better off sending her a bottle of something, not to try and talk myself out of a sale.”

Catelyn frowned.  “Yes, I’d heard that about her.”  She hesitated.  “Anyway, you know, I don’t think I’m going to send any flowers now but I sure wouldn’t mind you putting together some of those lovely orange alstromeria for me to take home? I could just use something to brighten up the dining table a little.”

Margaery nodded and selected a simple, tasteful square glass vase from the shelf behind her and pulled some of the alstromeria from the refrigerator, arranging them in the vase with a bit of some fern and other greenery.  As she put it together, she chattered away.  “Surprised with all them kids at your table, you’d want to risk it,” she joked, winking.  “I tell you, I do not know how you manage it, Mrs. Stark, it’s wonder you ever get any time to yourself.”

“Well, Robb, Snow and Sansa are actually a big help.”

“Robb I know, and I think I know Snow…. but Sansa…?”

“Fifteen?  Pretty?  Hair like mine?”  Catelyn prompted.

Margaery nodded vaguely.  “Think I’ve seen her but never talked to her.”  She added a packet of flower food to the water in the vase.  “Really, though, even with that… the cafe, the kids?  You manage to get out much?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “Pretty much never.”

“Well, that’s a real shame.”  She set the vase on the counter and rang it up.  “You ought to go try out for the musical.”

“What musical?”

Margaery smiled brightly.  “Oh, you know.  It’s just community theater, but they’re putting up a production of ‘Mame’.  My brother’s boyfriend is the choreographer.  You ever do any theater, Ms. Stark?”

Catelyn waved a hand noncommitally as she rifled through her purse with the other, looking for her credit card.  “Oh, sure, in college.  A little musical theater.  Played, uh, Mary Magdelene in Godspell, you know.  But I’m sure I’m too rusty these days.”

Margaery winked.  “Well you know, darlin’, it’s hardly Broadway.”

“And if even if I got a part, how would I ever find the time?”

“I’m sure y’all could work it out if you really wanted.”  Margaery swiped the card and handed it back.  “You should just go on and try.  You might surprise yourself.  And I bet your kids would just die to see their mama on stage.  In fact….”  She reached under the counter and handed her a flyer with the audition information on it.  

Catelyn took it politely but thought Margaery Tyrell was out of her damn mind.  “Thanks.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, Catelyn took her flowers, and left.

  


******

  


Later that night, Catelyn was in the kitchen, angrily baking up a batch of chocolate macadamia cookies to send to Cersei’s office in retaliation for the surprisingly delicious peach cobbler she’d received at the Silver Trout a few days prior.  Robb came in the door with Sansa, who was waving the flyer for auditions, which Catelyn had left on the passenger seat of the car.  Robb had gone to pick her up from a late session of model U.N., in preparation for the big symposium they were supposed to be attending in Atlanta.  “Mom!  Are you going to try out for this?  Is that why you have it?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “No, no.  Margaery Tyrell gave it to me when I stopped in there to pick up those flowers for the dinner table.  I just took it because I didn't want to be rude.”

But Sansa was filled with a righteous mission, as sometimes happened to her.  “But Mom, you HAVE to!”

“Where on earth would I find the time to even go to rehearsals even if I got something?”

She stomped her foot.  “We’d figure it out,” she declared.  “Right Robb?”

Robb looked back and forth between them.  He was used to being volunteered for things, and knew this would actually probably do their mother a world of good.  “Sure,” he agreed.

Catelyn sighed.  “Alright, I’ll think about it,” she hedged. She went back to rather violently mixing the dough for the cookies.

Rickon came running into the kitchen and saw that there was baking afoot, and demanded to know why he was not included.  Rickon had had a keen interest in cooking and baking since the age of about four, when Catelyn was making pancakes one morning and got pulled away by the doorbell.  She ran to the door to retrieve a package from the mailman, only to return to the kitchen and find that Rickon had pulled a milk crate up to the stove and managed to flip his own pancakes without mangling them, a feat that she herself sometimes didn't manage.  Now, at nine, he regularly watched baking videos on YouTube and understood a good deal about what went into making various baked goods.

“I’m just making these to show Cersei Lannister that I’m not intimidated by her,”  she explained, panting slightly.  Her cheeks had a slight flush to them and she pounded away at the bowl.  “Thinks she’s going to send me a peach cobbler made with her grandmother’s secret recipe, I’ll show her.”

Rickon looked truly horrified.  “Mom,” he gasped.  “You’re baking with hate!”

Catelyn patted his head.  “Honey, this is just something mommy has to do.”

“But you can’t!” he cried.  “You’re only supposed to put love into cookies!”

A little while later, the cookies emerged from the oven.  They all sampled one.  Rickon was reluctant to admit that they were delicious.  

Sansa had a hard time limiting herself to just one.  “Mom,” she declared around a mouthful of hot, chocolatey cookie, “if this is what hate-baking tastes like, please.  Do.  Not.  Stop.”

Catelyn smirked.

Sansa was undeterred.  “So, you’re going to go audition, right?”

Catelyn was riding a wave of chocolate endorphins and disdain-fueled adrenaline.  “Oh, what the hell.  Why not?”

“Why not,” grumbled Rickon, shuffling from the kitchen with another of the cookies in hand.  “Why not?  I’m mommy and I’m busy making hate-cookies, why not?”  
Sansa winked at her mother.  “He’ll get over it.”

It wasn't until a week later, as Catelyn arrived at the theater, that she fully appreciated what she was getting herself into.


	5. On the Spot

Catelyn had spent the week warming up on one of the more familiar songs from Mame, “If He Walked Into My Life.” Sansa insisted she sounded good enough for Broadway, but Catelyn restrained her expectations. She'd heard that the director, a youngish woman from South London named Asha Greyjoy, ran something of a tight ship. But maybe she'd get a chorus part, and it would be fun.

She hoped, anyway. Sansa had come for moral support while Snow and Arya watched the kids. She nudged her mother’s arm as they sat together, waiting, in the audience chairs, as Cersei Lannister went gliding by. “Isn't that her?” she whispered.

Catelyn nodded, chagrined. She hadn't expected to run into her. “Maybe we should forget this,” she whispered back.

“Mom, no! What if she saw you? If you leave, she'll know you were intimidated.”

Catelyn frowned. Well, she was just going to have to bring down the house, she decided.

“Oh my God, mom,” Sansa whispered, “look at her clothes. And those shoes…. Are those Louboutins?”

“Hush,” Cat scolded. Who did that woman think she was anyway, showing up in that burgundy Tahari blazer that was clearly tailored to her shape, her hair obviously expensively done but trying not to appear so… Nobody's hair just naturally fell in perfect golden waves down their shoulders and looked perpetually as though they were facing into a slight breeze.

She suddenly felt underdressed.

The first few auditions paraded by, mostly folks they knew from town; Loras Tyrell gave a respectable rendition of Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside, Dacey Mormont was clearly bucking for the role of Vera though she didn't quite have the low range, and Jeyne Westerling did a surprisingly good job with “St Bridget,” despite seeming slightly too young for the role of Agnes Gooch. Walda Frey also auditioned for the role of Gooch, but the director, Asha, channeled her inner Simon Cowell and interrupted her half a stanza in. “Thank you, love, that'll be all. You're not going Hollywood, yeah? Thank you.”

Ouch, thought Catelyn. In fairness, Walda had sounded like an injured chipmunk wailing through a throat full of sawdust, but still.

Then Cersei got up. Oberyn, the musical director, played the opening bars, and Cersei opened her mouth.

 _“I have a little secret I'd like to impart._  
_That I hope doesn't give you too much of a start;_  
_Tho' it's shocking, it's completely true._  
_I know it isn't gossip, or rumor, of course,_  
_For I've had it from quite a reliable source_  
_And I'd like to pass it on to you…”_

Sansa and Catelyn both felt their mouths drop open. Cersei Lannister had a voice like velvet. Vera Charles was a very low part for a woman, and it wasn't really supposed to sound sexy (originally having been sung by Bea Arthur, for goodness’s sake), but lord, it did. She had a contralto that was smooth and strong and sultry as all get-out.

 _“The man in the moon is a lady,_  
_A lady in lipstick and curls;_  
_The cow that jumped ovah cried, "Jumpin' Jehovah,_  
_I think it's just one of the girls..."_

“Sansa, you're blushing,” Cat scolded.

“So are you,” Sansa replied, not taking her eyes from the stage.

Cat felt her cheeks. Damn, they felt warm. She dearly hoped she wasn't up next. “I have an excuse. I don't want to follow that.”

“You'll be fine, mom.”

Luckily, there were a few more auditions before Catelyn was called. She took the opportunity to stride over to Cersei and give her big smile with a lot of teeth. “Wonderful audition,” she enthused, “really, just lovely. I'm sure you'll get something.”

“Of course I will,” Cersei answered matter of factly. “And what about you, Catelyn? Are you trying out for a chorus part?”

Catelyn ignored the dig and held her smile firmly in place with imaginary clothespins. “Oh, you know, I'll just go up and see what I get. It's all for fun, you know.”

Cersei smirked. “Of course. No shame in getting a small part. It's just great to do a show, isn't it.”

Catelyn winked and sighed, “I think I'm up soon, I'm just going to step outside and warm up.”

“Oh,” Cersei asked innocently, “do you find that helps?”

Catelyn, without missing a beat, replied, “I've heard it does. I'll let you know.”

Catelyn's turn came up soon enough. Stepping up into the lights in her blue jeans and green silk blouse, she was suddenly nervous. But Cersei was sitting there, in the fourth row, looking intently at her. No way was she going to bring less than everything she had. Oberyn played the opening, Cat gathered her breath, and sang:

“ _Where is that boy with the bugle?_  
_My little love was always my big romance;_  
 _Where's that boy with the bugle?_  
 _And why did I ever buy him those damn long pants?”_

She gave it her heart. She gave it her soul.  She gave it some other thing that she had heard one of her friends call her kishkas even though she wasn't quite sure what those were or if she even had them. She tried to imagine Mame’s loneliness, the feeling of her little boy growing up, and growing away from her, and she took the melancholy and drenched every note with it. Her voice was deep and resonant and honest. She kept her eyes closed for much of it, standing in the circle of pale yellow light, dwelling in the emotion of it.

“ _Though I'll ask myself my whole life long,_  
_What went wrong along the way;_  
 _Would I make the same mistakes_  
 _If he walked into my life today?_  
 _If that boy with the bugle,_  
 _If he walked into my life today.”_

She finished, and looked at Asha, Oberyn, and Renly. They all had very pleased looks. Her eyes flicked over to where Cersei had been sitting, but she was nowhere to be seen. _Rude_ , Catelyn thought.

A few more auditions went by, but Catelyn sat in her seat, quietly ranting to Sansa about how she couldn't believe how it was rude of Cersei to leave, and Sansa assuring her that she'd absolutely crushed the audition and it didn't matter if Cersei hadn't stayed around.

Catelyn nudged her arm. “Can you go call Snow and make sure they haven't burned the house down? Ask them to start preheating the oven to 425 for the casserole.”

Sansa nodded and slipped out. Catelyn watched the last audition and then listened to Asha’s address to the group. “Thank you all for coming this evening, it's been a pleasure hearing most of you, and to those of you for whom it wasn't a pleasure, you won't be getting a callback,” she announced with a sly grin.

A little wave of nervous chuckling went through the group.

She went on. “Oberyn and I will look at everyone's singing abilities and then we will call you back in small groups to have you read for the parts we think you're best suited for.”

A hand went up in the audience. “When should we expect to hear back?”

“Next couple of days,” Asha answered. “We want to make our casting decisions within the week if possible.”

A murmur went through the group.

“Right, then!” Asha called out, clapping her hands sharply. “You don't have to go home, but you cannot, in fact, stay here! Thanks again, and we’ll be in touch!”

 

*****

 

Outside, Cersei sat in her Range Rover with the windows down, angrily wiping tears from her eyes. That damn song. Of all the songs the fucking Stark woman could pick, it to be that one. She wrestled every goddamned day with the feeling that she'd lost Joffrey, that she'd screwed it up but good with that boy in ways that couldn't be fixed. And then Catelyn goddamned Stark was going to get up and hit her right in the chest like that. And then show her up on top of it.  Catelyn Stark and her obviously false modesty.

It had to be intentional. It had to be. All her so-called trying to “talk” about Joffrey and his “problem”. She hated to admit it, but useless as Robert had been, Joffrey had been less difficult to control back when his father had been around. Catelyn was trying to make a point, get a reaction out of her. Well, it wasn't going to work.

She saw Sansa emerge from the theater, peering at her cell phone. The girl glanced up and saw her sitting there, and Cersei tried to roll up her windows but it was too late.

“Ms. Lannister!” she called, jogging up to the window.

“Sansa,” Cersei answered tersely.

“Just wanted to tell you you sounded great.” She paused awkwardly.

“Thank you.” She imbued it with as much _go away_ as possible.

“And, um… I like your shoes.”

“Thank you.” What was this kid playing at? Were she and the mother tag teaming now?

Another awkward pause. “Well, good night! I have to call my cousin.” She tripped lightly away with the phone to her ear and began an animated conversation, and paid her no further attention.

Cersei was pleased to receive the call that they wanted her to come and read for Vera later that week. She was somewhat less pleased to learn that they were expecting her to read a scene with Mame, who would be read by none other than Catelyn Stark.


	6. Queen Victoria's Deadly Headlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Air Force Captain Jaime Lannister comes home from the Middle East with his wingman in tow. 
> 
> It is the first of many chapters in which other fandoms will pop in and say hello. 
> 
> The crackfest begins in earnest. :)

Cersei hadn’t wasted any time switching her name back to Lannister after Robert’s passing.  She’d never really stopped being a Lannister in the first place.  Theirs had been a fast and furious courtship that hurtled toward a long, miserable marriage, three gorgeous but unhappy children, and a string of Robert’s infidelities that was longer than the grocery receipt for the Super Bowl parties she’d dutifully throw every year no matter how badly she wanted to poison his punch.  She had wed him after college, when, after leaving Barden’s green quads behind, she was entirely uncertain what to do with her life and got pulled back to Westeros by her father Tywin’s insistence.  He felt, not entirely incorrectly, that she’d get lost in her life fairly quickly if he didn’t keep her on a short leash.  So, he set her up at the loan office and she learned the business to his satisfaction, and that was where it all began and ended for her.

The Baratheon family was old Southern money, just like the Lannisters, and the tributaries of its family stream tended to trickle in and out of various seats of political influence in and around the town and the surrounding county: mayors, town councilmen, the occasional congressional representative, and hell, once in a generation, they’d even send up a senator.  They were all tall, broad-shouldered, and good-looking, and had the affable, sanguine dispositions of people who’d never had to worry a day in their lives.  Even the “black sheep”, Renly, Robert’s youngest brother who owned and ran the candle shop in town, was handsome, manly, rugged, and well-liked, and could have run for some sort of office if he’d chosen to.  And he’d have won, too, despite being gayer than Christmas and twice as twinkly.

Only Westeros’s current mayor and Cersei’s former brother-in-law, Stannis, didn’t fit this mold.  Stannis had the personality of a cold, wet handshake, but the town had apparently been in an “eat your peas” kind of mood three years ago after Robert’s death, and had put him in office, elevating him from his old seat on the town council.  Cersei and Stannis didn’t like each other, per se, but they shared a kind of disdain for Robert’s more crude and rakish ways, whose charms had faded twice as fast with each passing year.  Robert hadn’t been a bad mayor, exactly, but he hadn’t been an especially good one either, and while the local press had the good graces to keep his affairs out of the papers, Cersei’s private disgust with him only slightly exceeded Stannis’s.

They still lived in the same house: Cersei, her two boys, Joffrey and his unaccountably sweet brother Tommen, and Myrcella, who was Cersei’s spitting image, but somehow without all the poison in her blood.  It was one of the more well-appointed places in town; it had six bedrooms, a swimming pool and hot tub on a deck that enclosed in the wintertime, several acres of immaculately landscaped property courtesy of Tyrell Farms & Floral.  She’d demanded he allow her to redecorate to the tune of several thousand dollars after a particularly messy affair a few years before his accident, and she’d redone the spacious, airy rooms to look like a centerfold article for Gracious Living, full of tastefully balanced neutral tones with rustic accents; wrought-iron chandeliers in the dining room, a refinished barn door which could slide closed to separate the kitchen off from the den.  In fact, it had been a sidebar in an article for Gracious Living, one that focused on Southern style, but it was not the centerfold she really wanted so she could never quite be as happy about that as she pretended to be.  

Still, she was willing to bet Catelyn Stark’s house never showed up in an issue of Gracious Living.

Why the hell was Catelyn Stark invading her thoughts now?

She had a very large pot of beef stroganoff on the stove tonight, and a large pot of water whose surface she was watching with extreme vigilance for signs of boiling.  Myrcella was practicing some Beethoven on the living room piano, which was her way of coping with a sour mood.  Tommen, having finished his homework, was sprawled out on a recliner in the den, watching wrestling; he was a gentle kid, but that was the one oddball taste he’d inherited from Robert. It tickled him to no end that The Rock was such a terrific singer.  

And Joffrey… just the thought of him made her stomach turn.  He was probably out torturing cats or whatever the hell he was doing with that no-good Ramsey Bolton.  Whatever had been difficult about his temperament before Robert’s death, it had gotten ten times worse since he started running around with Ramsey.  While she was quick to judge, and in fact rather enjoyed it, she rarely felt disposed to simply brand someone as flat-out evil.  Wrong, stupid, incompetent, a shitheel, nuts, a bitch, a bastard, but rarely just evil.  But that Ramsey boy was some kind of twisted and his daddy Roose was indulgent and dismissive.  A little drinking she could close an eye to, because hell, she’d done it too at that age, but she suspected him of worse.

But Jaime was coming home, and maybe he’d straighten Joffrey out.  He’d called that morning saying he’d arrived stateside and was hoping to get into town by tonight.  Said he had his wingman Carter in tow, and would she mind if they came by the ranch after they got in.  God, would she mind?  Now that he was close enough to actually talk about it, she felt an urgency to see him, needed it more than air.  

Jaime was Air Force, and over the last five years, had been deployed in Iraq, and then Afghanistan, and then Libya, and then had been involved in some other secret operations that he couldn’t talk about, and she hadn’t seen him since before Robert died.  She and Jaime were twins, and being apart this long was like missing half her heart, half her strength.  She knew it had killed him watching her marry Robert, because everything about it was a terrible idea and they both knew it.  But they had stuck together and supported each other through no shortage of terrible ideas in their lives, and having him here would be like being able to breathe again.

So she was cooking for six, tonight, though by the look of the pot, you’d think it was a dozen.  She was making too much.

Why the hell wasn’t that water boiling?  Those noodles were going to have to be cooked at some point.

The front doorbell rang, obnoxiously, about six or seven times in a row.  That could only be Jaime.

Myrcella stopped grinding away at the piano.  Cersei ran into the foyer to find Jaime letting himself in and Myrcella running to tackle him.  He was like a ray of sunlight that someone had shaped into the form of a man, even with the weariness in his face, even with the weight of all his unspoken secrets, he was tall and golden and the most beautiful sight she’d seen in a good long while.  He gripped Myrcella and spun her around, exclaiming, “Who is this woman in my sister’s living room?!”

The last time he’d seen her, Cersei realized with a pang, Myrcella had been eleven.  Puberty had only just begun hucking pebbles at her window and stage whispering her name in the night.

Lingering quietly behind Jaime was a woman; a brunette who was a bit shorter than he was, hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing some kind of kind of combat fatigues that looked a bit different from Jaime’s grey USAF ones.  Cersei struggled to compute who she was or why she was there.  Then her eyes lit on a nametag stitched to the khaki fabric, “CARTER.”

Jaime had neglected to mention his wingman was a woman.  An attractive woman, too.  She wondered whether they had become a couple.  Was that why she was here?  

She was tallish for a woman.  Even dressed down, she’d still bothered to apply a bit of lipstick to her objectively pretty mouth, and there was a kind of wry intelligence in her dark eyes.  She could easily fathom Jaime going for a woman like that, and something that felt like jealousy stirred someplace in her body that she didn’t want to dwell on for too long.

Carter stepped forward and extended her hand.  “Since Yank here seems to lack social tact, I’ll go ahead and take care of it.”  Cersei was surprised to hear a British accent.  That was why her uniform was different.  She was RAF.

“Blow it out your ass, Jack,” Jaime snorted, releasing Myrcella from his arms.   _Jack?_

“Piss off, Yank,” Carter shot back.  She took Cersei’s hand and shook it warmly, looking her square in the eye and smiling.  She was, in her way, as radiant as Jaime.  “You must be Cersei.  Your brother never stops talking about you.”

Cersei took her hand and shook it, startled again, this time by the strength of her grip.  “And it appears you would be the famous Carter.  I understand you saved my brother’s skin a few times.”  

“Yeah, well,” Jaime replied breezily, “not all of it.”

He raised his right hand, which was partially replaced with a prosthetic.  It sent a jolt of grief through Cersei.  He had gone away from her, and had not returned whole.  She’d known about it, but it was another thing to see it in the flesh.

“I drag you from the burning wreckage of a chopper and this is the thanks I get,” Carter snapped lightly, with a well-rehearsed note in her voice that said they’d had this back and forth many, many times.  “You’re a real twat, Yank.”

“Aw, cram it, Jack.”

Jaime pushed past Carter as he said this, and gathered Cersei in his arms.  She tried hard not to weep with relief, and they embraced.  She hung onto him for a moment, found comfort in his solid frame, and noticed that he smelled different than she remembered.  He smelled like someone who’d been living an utterly foreign life for the last five years.

Tommen came dashing in a moment later, and Jaime sandwiched Cersei in a hug between himself and the boy.  Introductions ensued, and more handshakes, and more uneasy laughter.  It was almost unreal.

She didn’t ask if he’d been to see their father already.  She knew he had.  She didn’t want to talk about him.  She knew he didn’t either.

Jaime glanced around.  “Where’s Joff?”

As if on cue, Cersei gave a distasteful glance as she saw her son jump out of Ramsey’s car and come shuffling up the front steps.  “Here he comes,” she sighed.

He pushed open the front door.  His face betrayed that despite his disaffected teenage demeanor, he was pleased to see his uncle.  “Uncle Jaime!”  he exclaimed, and put out a hand for a handshake.

Jaime held up his damaged hand and smiled wordlessly.

“Oh, right.  Mom told me about that.”  He hesitated a moment, and then leaned forward and awkwardly hugged his uncle, and pulled away as quickly as he could.

He then noticed Carter standing in their midst.  “Who’s this?” he demanded, a combative tone nibbling around the edges of his voice.

“This is my wingman, Carter.  Jack, this is my nephew, Joffrey.”

Carter took Joffrey’s hand and shook it, politely greeting him with, “Hello, Joffrey, your uncle’s told me all about you.”

Joffrey’s handshake was perfunctory and his expression disdainful.  Cersei was mortified that he was about embarrass her in front of a woman who might or might not be her brother’s girlfriend.  “Funny,” he said, and Cersei watched the words tumble out of his in slow motion.  “I ain’t heard nothin’ about you.”

Carter put her hands on her hips and surveyed him for a moment.  She glanced at Jaime, who gave a wave that Cersei recognized as, “do what you must.”

“Joffrey!” Cersei scolded.  

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Carter answered with an overly radiant smile.  “I have that effect on people.”

Joffrey gave her a skeptical once-over.  “What’s with the accent, Queen Victoria?” he drawled.  “Thought my uncle was in the _United States_ Air Force.”

Jaime just shook his head.

Carter’s eyes glinted with a savage mischief and before anyone knew what was happening, she’d got Joffrey in a headlock, one arm bent rather uncomfortably behind his back.  He was clearly struggling and would have slung one off and belted her if he could have.  He sprayed the air with grunting and profanity, but there was nothing for it.  Carter had gotten him bested and he wasn’t getting out of it.

“Yank, you never told me your nephew was such a charmer!”

“Fuckin’ let go of me, ya damn cunt!”  Joffrey shouted, wriggling, but she leaned gently on his arm and he gave another pained grunt.

“And what an impressive vocabulary, clearly he takes after you!” she continued, still grinning radiantly at Jaime.

Jaime was silently chuckling.  Cersei’s mouth hung open in shock, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.  Myrcella was in stitches, and Tommen was in pure awe (it was better than watching wrestling on television).  Joffrey, after a few minutes of vain struggling and cussing, realized his quickest route to release was to shut the hell up.

Over dinner, Myrcella and Tommen were full of questions, for their uncle certainly, but really Myrcella had more questions for “Jack” -- what was her rank? (Captain, like Jaime)  What happened when she pulled Uncle Jaime from the wrecked chopper? (She didn't like talking about it.)  Was she a good shot? (She liked to think she was quite a bit better than good.)

“Now Jack,” Cersei began sweetly, “surely that wasn't the name your mama gave you?”

Carter laughed.  “Bloody Nora, heavens no!  My mother named me Margaret.”  She made a gagging face.  “Jack is my call sign, as in the Union Jack.  Because, you know, British.  I used to have a lovely call sign, it was Banshee, but thanks to Yank here--” She jammed a thumb in Jaime’s direction.  “--Colonel Janeway rechristened us both!”

“I ain't no damnyankee,” Jaime grumbled.

“And yet here we are,” Carter sighed cheerfully.

Cersei nodded thoughtfully, trying to work out whether their dynamic was anything more than the brothers-in-arms joshing that it appeared to be.  As the hour grew late, she booted the kids off to bed and took out the brandy, settling in for what would be her first drink in nearly two weeks.  As the kids shuffled off, Myrcella leaned down, and Cersei saw her whisper something to Carter that made Carter smile sweetly and pat her on the shoulder.

“So,” Jaime began, after the three of them were alone on the porch with their brandy.  “Joff’s turned into a little shit.”

Cersei shot him a dirty look.

An entire evening and she still had no idea how to address Jaime’s beloved wingman.  Jack just felt odd.  She’d made it clear she didn’t care for Margaret.  She went with, “Captain Carter?  Can I offer you a brandy?”

“Cheers, that’d be lovely.”

She poured off a glass and handed it to her.

“Well, Jaime, you know Robert was so goddamned indulgent of his ways, the potential was always there.  And now he’s running around with Roose Bolton’s boy, who seems to bring out nothing but his worst.”

“The weird one who looked like he was gonna grow up to be a serial killer?” Jaime asked, squinting vaguely.

“That’s the one.  I don’t know where they go, what they do, he got detention for harassing some girl at school…”  Cersei broke off.  

“Martial arts,” Carter offered, sipping at her glass.

Cersei stopped and looked at her.  “What?”

“Sounds like a candidate for martial arts.  Karate, aikido, whatever.”  She sipped again and cocked her head at Cersei thoughtfully.  “It might give him a little internal discipline.  Having your ass kicked once or twice a week tends to foster a bit of humility as well.”

Cersei looked at Jaime.  He nodded slowly in agreement.  “Not a bad idea, actually.”  He relaxed into the porch swing with his feet out in front of him.  “You sure you don’t want kids, Jack?”

“Are you sure you don’t want a knuckle sandwich, Yank?”  Carter shot back.  “Nothing in the world will convince me to have children.”

“You don’t know that, you could meet the right person and….”  He made some booming and powing noises like fireworks.  “...your whole world could change.”  

Carter snorted.  “And Tony Blair could be a black woman in drag, but it’s not bloody likely, is it?”

But Cersei was chewing it over while Jaime and Carter dickered back and forth.  Christ, anything was worth a try.

“So what was it Myrcella mentioned about you doing a play?” Jaime asked after a few moments of trading sarcasm with Carter.

“Oh, that.”  Cersei tried to sound as if it wasn’t a big deal.  “I tried out for Mame at the County Theatre.  Oberyn’s the musical director, you know.”

“You think you got a part?”

“Well, I nailed the vocal audition, and they want me to go back and read for the part of Vera, but I’m supposed to be reading with this Catelyn Stark bitch who’s been driving me crazy, I think they intend to cast her as Mame, and I’m really having second thoughts.”

“Fuck her,” Carter suggested evenly.

“Sorry?”

“Fuck her,” Carter repeated.  “You want to do the thing, do the thing.  Honestly.  If I can suffer Yank here for two long years flying search and rescue ops, you can tolerate six weeks of rehearsals and two weekends of performance, don’t you think?”

Cersei set her mouth.   _Damn right_ , she thought.

“What does she do that’s so bad, anyhow?” Jaime inquired, with a look that said he knew there was a chance he’d regret it.

“She sends me pastries,” Cersei fumed.  She felt that hot, sticky feeling bubble up in her chest at the mere thought of it.

“And… and that’s bloody awful, is it?”  Carter asked, confused.

Jaime winked.  “It’s a Southern thing.”

 _Fuck her.  Do the thing._  
Whoever this woman was to Jaime, Cersei hoped she’d stick around.


	7. A Mildly Sadistic Game of SIMS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Cat find themselves in eerily similar predicaments.

All the Stark kids seemed to have their “thing”.  Bran was an avid reader of literature with a particular fondness for Gothic Victorian, and a music enthusiast with a preference for indie rock but also a deeply shame-filled fondness for the later works of Taylor Swift.  Robb was a track star and a minor player on the Westeros High chess team.  Snow had dogs; volunteering, training, rescue, and really, sometimes it just boiled down to playing and hanging out with them, because they tended to be a good deal kinder than people as long as you treated them right.  Sansa was a writer of both prose and journalism, and a highly enthusiastic student of German.  Rickon liked cooking, most especially baking.  

And Arya … well, Arya was a green belt in karate, and a featherweight tournament champ, with zero compunctions or hesitations about punching above her weight class.  She’d always been a little wild and rough around the edges, but after Ned Stark’s death, Catelyn had found it absolutely necessary to place her in a local karate school because her temperament was getting her into fights, and she didn’t seem to care that they were often with people much bigger than she was.  Twice a week with Syrio Forel seemed to give her a sense of balance that she’d desperately needed.

So it was only fair, Catelyn reasoned, that she, too, should have her own “thing,” and in the end, it was Arya, even more than Sansa, who advocated most strongly for her to let that “thing” be the musical.  Catelyn was shocked that she’d gotten called back and told she was being considered for the role of Mame, and even more shocked when she was told that she was being asked to come in and read dialogue with their possible Veras, one of whom was, of all people, Cersei Lannister.

So, Arya happened to be the kid who was available to come to the reading for moral support.  She insisted on it, in fact.  She and her mother didn’t always understand each other, exactly, but they tried their best to stand by each other through tough times, and this, as far as Arya could tell, was a tough time.  And Sansa, knowing that Cersei Lannister was going to be here, was going to be useless.  Arya could barely contain her annoyance with her sister’s painfully transparent lady-crush on the mother of that bullying little shit, Joffrey.

It was too bad, Arya reflected, because the other two Baratheon kids weren’t so bad.  Myrcella, despite being a fairly girly girl, was a pretty good pianist, which Arya could respect, and was always friendly enough in class.  And Tommen seemed like a sweet kid, though it was hard to tell how bright he was.  Joffrey, though, was due for an ass-whipping.  And Arya dearly wished she could give it to him.  But she knew it wasn’t right, and besides, she’d promised her mother she wouldn’t.

They pulled up to the theater and Arya squeezed her mom’s shoulder.  “Mom, you’re going to crush it, just like you did last time.  And even if you do end up getting cast with Joffrey’s mom, so what?  If I can restrain myself from beating the snot out of Joffrey, you can avoid getting into fights with her, right?”  

Catelyn nodded quietly, acknowledging her point, and went inside.  

While she was killing time in the empty auditorium, wishing she brought Nymeria to throw a ball around with in the parking lot, Arya’s eye got annoyingly stuck on a shape.  It was pale and blonde and slender and otherworldly and had curves that she couldn’t seem to detach her gaze from.  It was a girl, and she turned for a half-moment, seeming to feel the weight of Arya’s eyes on her.  Arya looked away in embarrassment and pretended to be inspecting her shoe, because whose shoe didn’t need a good inspection every now and again?  When she looked up, the girl was gone.  

The lights flickered once in the auditorium, and then again.  Arya glanced up and around.  There was a shape in the lighting booth.  The same shape.  It waved to her.  Arya waved back uncertainly, and then sat down, as a few spots came up on the stage, and her mother and a small cluster of other women came in, along with Oberyn Martell, Renly Baratheon, and that salty chick from London who was apparently the director.

  
  


*****

  


Catelyn joined Asha and Oberyn up on the stage, where a cluster of folding chairs sat, slightly haphazard in their arrangements.  Catelyn of course recognized Cersei and greeted her with the warmest of smiles, and then Dacey Mormont, and another woman that Cat couldn’t quite place, but who Cat suspected to be a Frey, because she had a touch of that droopy mouth and sour expression that one found on most of the Freys.

The scene they were to be reading was a bit of dialogue between Mame and Vera prior to their snarky musical number, “Bosom Buddies,” where they take relentless shots at one another over their age, their hair, their clothes, their drinking habits, and so on.  The unfamiliar Frey woman turned out to be Walda, or rather _a_ Walda (for God’s sake, were they _all_ named Walda?  Cat could swear there were about a dozen different Frey gals named Walda in a twenty mile radius of Westeros).  Walda was the other possible Mame, and so she read with both Cersei and Dacey Mormont.  From what Cat recalled of her audition, she’d actually had a halfway decent singing voice and it was in the right range for her, but the table read was underwhelming.  She lacked anything resembling a shred of presence when reading her lines.  Cat tried to stop the “where’s Walda” jokes that kept knocking on the door of her brain.

She read with Dacey.  Dacey’s vocal audition had been alright, as far as Cat remembered, but her table read was actually quite good.  She sported enough dry wit and sass to carry it off and Cat felt optimistic that she might not actually have to play this role alongside Cersei Lannister after all.

Then she and Cersei had to read.  They armored themselves in fake smiles and plunged in.  Cat had to remind herself that the digs she was meant to be delivering were meant to have at least some measure of love beneath them, particularly that line about Vera Charles being the world’s biggest lush.  Everyone knew Cersei’s fondness for her wine.  She had to remind herself that she was supposed to be best friends with this woman and this cattiness was all a bit of fun.  And she had to remind herself that when Cersei delivered a line just as cutting, that it was only a line, scripted long before the two of them had ever come together on this stage, and refuse to receive and sincerity that might be lurking behind it.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you for years, Vera, you should keep your hair natural like mine,”  Cat read, instinctively primping her hair as she said it.

“If I kept my hair natural like yours,” Cersei responded, as Vera of course, “I’d be bald.”

They got through the read.  Cat felt sure it had been too contentious, that their seething dislike for one another had probably shown through too much.  She shook hands with Asha and Oberyn, said overly pleasant farewells to Cersei and the others, and tugged Arya’s hand.  Cat was still so flushed and nervous from the whole thing that she only half noticed that Arya seemed preoccupied with staring up at the lighting booth as they meandered out of the theater.

  


*******

 

The call came the next day, from Asha Greyjoy.  “Right, so, Catelyn Stark, congratulations, you are our Mame.”

Cat covered her hand with her mouth for a moment and took a breath.  “Fabulous!  Thank you so much!”  An awkward pause.  “And Vera?”

Asha replied, “Well, I thought the chemistry was pretty obvious at the read, didn’t you?”

“Dacey and Cersei both read quite well,” Cat answered diplomatically.

“Yeah, Dacey did an alright job,” Asha mused, “and if we didn’t have another choice, she’d be the one.  But you and Lannister, well… the energy was perfect, the back and forth.  Just the right amount of catty and friendly.  I couldn’t have ordered it up better than that.”

Cat took a moment to let it sink in.  Rehearsals and performances with Cersei Lannister.  They had a musical number together.  It felt like being handed a chocolate cake and told that there was broken glass inside.  

“There a problem?”  Asha pressed.

“No no!” Cat exclaimed.  “None at all!”  

“Well then,”  Asha sighed, looking to wrap up the call, “this is the part where you say, thanks for the opportunity, Asha, I won’t let you down, and I’m looking forward to working with you and Ms. Lannister and the rest of the crew.”

Cat shook her head to clear it.  “Goodness, where are my manners!”

“Dunno, but if you left them at the theater I’ll stow ‘em in the lost and found for you.  Rehearsals start in two weeks.  I’ll email you the schedule and have Oberyn follow up with the scripts and sheet music, right?”

Bosom buddies.  With Cersei Lannister.  Asha either didn’t know the difference between “obvious chemistry” and “two people barely containing their seething dislike for one another”, or didn’t care.  Cat started to wonder if a martial arts class wasn’t in order for her as well.

  


***

  


When Arya arrived at the dojo that Friday, she was confronted with a sight that she was not expecting to see:  Joffrey Baratheon in a gi, with a white belt.

“Arya,” Syrio called to her as she entered.  “Come here, please.”

Arya approached, did her best to give Joffrey an indifferent look, and met Syrio’s eyes.  She bowed quickly.  “Hello, sensei.”

“This is Joffrey,” Syrio said, gesturing to the rather disaffected looking blond boy standing next to him.  “You may know him from school.  As you are a green belt, Arya, I am choosing you to be his senpai and help me to but him through his paces.”

Arya bowed stiffly, and her eyes met Syrio’s with a question.  But his look answered her.  He knew.  He knew who Joffrey was to her and how she felt about him.  He was challenging her, she understood that.  He knew her story, what had brought her to karate. Had the discipline really worked?  Had the years of hard work, both physical and spiritual, done what they were meant to do and put her in a position to guide this jackass instead of simply beating him down the way a large part of her wanted to (and in fact, felt he deserved)?  

She led him over to the side of the room as students filtered in.  He stared down at her, clearly not wanting to be here.  “So what happens, now?  You gonna whup me now, pipsqueak?” he drawled.

Arya stared him down for a long moment.  It was all she wanted in the world, and she could, too.  But that was not her role, not now.  Her role was to help his dumb ass.  Fate was in a fucking mood this week, Arya observed, as if she’d had a little too much to drink and was playing a mildly sadistic game of SIMS that she was dying to see end with someone getting punched in the head and tossed into a dumpster.  The only question was whether it was going to be this Lannister or the other one.

“No, grasshopper,” she answered with measured sarcasm.  “I’m here to train you.  Ass kicking comes later.  If you last that long.”


	8. Taking the Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First rehearsal goes poorly.

The afternoon before the first night of rehearsals found Catelyn trying her best to stay cheerful and sweet with the customers at the Silver Trout, but this was a difficult date for the Stark family.  Truth be told, if Cat had her way, she’d be at home with her kids tonight instead of running lines at the theater, but she’d been given the lead, and the show must go on and all of that.  

So, while she liked to think she had a good handle on her own raw emotions, when the latest cake arrived from Cersei, she couldn’t simply put it aside to look at it later, as she’d have done on any other day.  She had to open it, had to look.  The smell wafted up, distinctive and strong; it was a hazelnut-mocha coffee cake, with a note in Cersei’s spidery handwriting.  “Break a leg tonight, Mame!”

“How the hell did she know,” Cat growled to herself.  

Snow was working that afternoon, and they came over and laid a hand on Cat’s shoulder.  “Aunt Cat, you okay?  I can hold the fort if you need to take five.”

Cat stood there, shaking in fury.  How could she send this? On the anniversary of Ned’s death?  How could she send his favorite goddamned cake?  This was a low blow even by Cersei’s standards and she wasn’t going to stand for it.  She didn’t know what she was going to do, but there was going to be hell to pay at rehearsal tonight, some way or other.

“Aunt Cat,” Snow ventured gently, “maybe she didn’t know this was Uncle Ned’s favorite.”

“Oh!” Cat snorted.  “So it was just coincidence that just happened to send THIS particular cake, on THIS particular day!”  

She collected herself and went back to rearranging the pastries in the display case, but she was still shaking, and wouldn’t stop until she was standing in that theater.

Snow slipped into the back and called Arya.  “Hey,” they whispered.  “I hope you were planning on going to that rehearsal tonight with your mom.  Ms. Lannister just sent her a hazelnut-mocha coffee cake.”

“Oh, that’s really bad,” Arya groaned.  

“You’re not kidding,” Snow whispered.  “Seriously, I’ll walk Nym tonight for you if you want, but you’ve gotta go to the theater with her.  I’m literally scared for Ms. Lannister.”

Arya thought for a minute, then collected her calm.  “Nah,” she decided, “I’ll just bring Nym.  That parking lot’s big, I can throw the ball around with her and stuff, it’ll be fine.”

  


***************

  


Arya made sure to hustle Cat out the door to get her to rehearsal early.  “Claim the space, make it yours,” she’d advised her mother.  

Catelyn had taken it to heart.  

Arya knew that look on her mother, the one that said she was holding in a simmering rage.  “Just remember Mom, you can take it as a blow, or you can take it as her honoring Dad’s memory, ok?  This doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“Every time Cersei Goddamn Lannister sends me a cake, it’s a bad thing!” Cat snapped.

 _Oh boy,_ Arya thought.  

Cat went inside to get settled, and Arya stayed outside, playing fetch with Nymeria.  She lazily tossed the blue rubber ball down the pavement in front of the theater, watched Nym trot after it, took it from her when she brought it back.  “Good girl,” she mumbled each time, patting her on the head.  

She saw a beat-up grey Beamer pull up and dart into a parking spot close to the building.  Asha, the director, got out, wearing a casually bellicose attitude and sunglasses that were entirely unnecessary at this hour.  Arya liked her energy, though.  She was tough and salty and didn’t pull any punches, and Arya appreciated that.  She strutted up to the door and paused in front of Arya.  She glanced at Nym.  “Pretty pup,” she observed.

“Yep,” Arya agreed.  “Thanks.”

“You’re Mame’s moppet, right?”

Arya nodded.

Asha inspected her for a moment.  “You play guitar?” she asked, looking at Arya’s hands.

Arya nodded again. “It’s not the only reason  keep my nails short, but yeah.  A little.”

“So you know how sound equipment works, then, do you?”

Arya was bewildered at this line of questioning.  “Sort of, a little.”  She found herself wanting to impress her, for some reason.

“Right, well, if you’re going to be tagging along with your mum all the time, make yourself useful.  Go on up to the booth and get that board running.  I’ve just learnt our sound tech is out of commission.  Premature labor.”

Arya looked at her in confusion.  “What?”

“I’m giving you a job.  Go get the sound running.”

Arya’s mouth dropped open.  “I… only know a little about this stuff… I’m not a sound tech–”

Asha shushed her.  “Just twiddle the knobby things until it sounds right.  If it starts feedback and making awful sounds, you've done it wrong.  It’s not that hard.”  She looked at her again.  “Go on, then.  You can bring the pup if you like.”  And then she brushed past her through the doors.

Arya stood there trying to figure out what had just happened, so she tossed the ball again.  It rolled off of the pavement and onto the asphalt, near, as it happened, to where Cersei Lannister had just pulled up in her Range Rover.  Nym retrieved the ball, caught between the delicate needles of her teeth, and wheeled around, preparing to lope back over to where Arya stood, when she stopped suddenly.  As Cersei strode toward the door, Nymeria began running circles around her.  Cersei stopped walking and looked down at Nym, then back up at Arya.  She could see the _oh, great, another Stark kid_ look on her face.

“She yours?” Cersei asked.

Nymeria stood up on her hind legs, placing her paws against Cersei’s slacks and nuzzling at her arm.  “Yeah, sorry,” Arya apologized.  “Nymeria!  Leave Ms. Lannister alone!  C’mon, numbnut!”  She jogged over to where Cersei stood.  Nymeria dropped down, but continued nuzzling at Cersei’s hand, trying to deposit the ball into it.  “Um… she, uh, wants you to throw the ball.”

Cersei looked irritated, but also anxious to get out of this awkward moment.  She took the ball and tossed it toward the theater.  

“Sorry about that,” Arya apologized again.  Weird.

Cersei brushed herself off and continued walking.  “I guess all dogs are like that,” she sighed.  “Don’t fret about it.”

“Nym’s not, actually.  She’s pretty aloof most of the time,” Arya answered.  

“Hm,” was all Cersei Lannister had to say.

As she was about to disappear inside the building, Arya called after her, “Hey Ms. Lannister?”

Cersei turned and looked back at her.  “Hm?”

“Listen, I, uh… I’m sure you meant well with that cake today, but you’ve gotta know, it really upset my mother and, uh… look, just … try not to take it personal if she’s a little… short with you, okay?”

She saw Cersei’s face registering skepticism and maybe confusion, but all she said was, “Hm.”

The door closed behind her.

  
  


*******

  


Inside, Catelyn was waiting onstage, chatting idly with Oberyn and Asha and looking at the sheet music.  Other cast members would be coming in a half hour to read through lines.  But until then, they’d decided to run Mame and Vera’s duet, “Bosom Buddies,” of course.  Of course.  If the Lord had a sense of humor, she decided, it was a damned rude one.

But she was already entrenched, doing her level best to appear as though she was holding court with the directors and the other cast members who’d been asked to this rehearsal, and, she thought to herself, not doing too damned badly.  She laughed just a bit too loudly at something funny Oberyn was saying when she saw Cersei approaching the stage, wearing a lightweight sweater in deep green and those Louboutins that Sansa had drooled over at the auditions.  She watched her glide up the steps to the stage with a leonine grace that made Catelyn’s blood just about boil.

But, she reminded herself, the show must go on.

They exchanged perfunctory greetings.  Through gritted teeth, Catelyn thanked her for the cake.  They pulled up a couple of stools, and Oberyn sat down at the piano and played the opening bars of their song.  Catelyn took a deep breath and they began to sing, trading the friendly barbs that she knew so well.  She’d watched the Bea Arthur and Angela Lansbury version of this a thousand times if it was a hundred, so she tried to keep her head together and just focus on making it right, and making it music, and Cersei Lannister and her attempt to throw her off be damned.  Their voices entered together at the top,  blending better than Catelyn particularly wanted to admit.

_“We'll always be bosom buddies,_   
_Friends, sisters and pals;_   
_We'll always be bosom buddies,_   
_If life should reject you,_   
_There's me to protect you.”_

Cersei gave her a feline grin and sang, _“If I say that your tongue is vicious–”_

And Catelyn came in with her line, _“If I call you uncouth–”_

And then together:  
_“It's simply that who else but a bosom buddy  
Will sit down and tell you the truth.”_

They careened through it, Oberyn’s piano slightly in need of a tuning but otherwise serviceable enough, stepping on each other’s lines only once or twice, and Catelyn thought she’d make it through, despite how cutting the nature of the lyrics, despite how close to the surface her anger was sitting.  And then, it happened.  It just slipped out:

_“Each time that a critic has written, "Your voice is the voice of a frog!"_   
_Straight to your side to defend you I rush;_   
_You know that I'm there ev'ry time that the world makes an unkind remark._   
_When they say "Cersei Lannister is the world's greatest lush!"”_

The piano stopped, which as it happened, was convenient, because there was supposed to be a rest in the music.  Everyone stopped breathing, including Cat.  She’d heard it as soon as it dropped from her lips and she was horrified and mortified and every other kind of ‘fied she could think of, so she did the only thing she could think to do.  She soldiered through:

 _“It hurts meeeeeee….”_ she sang, hoping maybe they would just be able to brush past it.

Cersei jumped in on the next verse, right on cue:

_“And if I say your fangs are showing,_   
_CAT, pull in your claws,_   
_It's simply that who else but a bosom buddy_   
_Will notice the obvious flaws!”_

Oberyn stopped playing and looked between them as they glowered at each other.  Cersei looked ready to tear her throat out, which Cat figured was about what her own face looked like.

“Where,” Cersei snarled, “do you get off-”

“Where do YOU get off,” Cat cut her off, “sending me THAT cake on THIS day!”  She felt a flush rise in her cheeks and she knew she was losing her grip on things, but it was past the point of no return.  “I have seen some low blows in my life, Cersei Lannister, but that… that just about took the... the cake!”

And she stormed off the stage.  

The rest of the cast and the directors stood there looking around at each other and then at Cersei, wondering what she could have done to send the normally even-tempered Catelyn Stark storming offstage. 

Asha looked irritably at Cersei.  “Go fix it.”


	9. Good Director, Bad Director

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow decides to join the theater team. Oberyn and Asha move in to salvage the situation between Cat and Cersei.

That night, Arya and Snow played lazily in the yard with Nym and Ghost, throwing tennis balls  for the dogs to fetch and drinking their favorite herbal tea, Cranberry Lemon Zinger.  Snow was wearing sweat shorts and a beanie, curls tucked up underneath, and flip-flops.  It was their “go ahead, guess” outfit.

“So,” Snow drawled slowly, “the director hired you to run sound because you just happened to be standing there with Nym outside the theater?”

Arya nodded.  “But I don’t know if I’m even gonna still be able to do it because Mom and Ms. Lannister had this huge blowout, and I’m not sure if Mom is even gonna still be in the show or what’s gonna happen.”

“Well,” Snow mused.  “Do you even really wanna do it?  I mean, you just go to the theater to hang out to be moral support for her anyway, right?”

Arya shuffled.  “Well, yeah, but … I kind of do want to do it.”

Snow peered at her.  There was clearly something Arya wasn’t saying.  “C’mon, Arya.  Spill.”

Arya sighed.  “There’s a cute girl, I think she runs the lights.”

Snow’s eyebrow went up in surprise.  Arya hadn’t really shown much interest in anyone of any gender till now.  “Ohhhhh….”  They paused.  “So, you’re not going to be much good to her even if she does stay, because you’re going to be up in the booth.”

Arya nodded.  “Yeah, I guess.”

Snow bent down as Ghost ran up and deposited a tennis ball in front of them.  They picked it up and chucked it out into the yard again.  “Maybe I better go sign up for stage crew or something.  Just to be around, you know?”

“You know nothing about building sets, Snow.”

“I could learn.”  Snow watched Ghost and Nym chase each other around the bushes.  

Arya was skeptical.  But she’d learned by now not to underestimate Snow.

  


 

**********************************

 

 

Oberyn and Asha had met each other at lunchtime in the parking lot of the supermarket that a few blocks off the main drag, within striking distance of the both Lannister Bank & Loan as well as The Silver Trout Cafe and Bakery.

"Good director or bad director?" Oberyn asked Asha as they walked toward the main drag.

"Obviously, bad," she retorted, "it's rather my thing if you hadn't noticed."

Oberyn grinned.  

  


*******

  


Cersei looked up from her desk to find Asha marching in the front door of the bank, headed directly for her office.  She hung up the phone, folded her hands, and looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

Asha dropped herself into the seat in front of Cersei's desk.  "Now look, Lannister, I'm not going to have any more childish bullshit like what we had at rehearsal last night.  Either you and Stark sort your shit out, or I'm making a casting change."

Cersei's expression didn't change.  "Well, I'm the only one who can sing Vera."

Asha snorted.  "Listen, love, you're the best one, maybe, but not the only one.  Oberyn pushed me to cast you if I'm being honest, but if he's wrong he's wrong.  Mame is my lead and I'm bloody well not re-casting her."

Cersei registered a little surprise.  "So?"

Asha pounded a fist on the desk.  "So bloody sort it out!  If I have to witness another incident like that, I'm dropping you faster than a hot rock, right?"

Cersei glared at Asha from beneath her suddenly furrowed brow.  Asha wasn't screwing around.  And much as she hated to admit it, she had really gotten herself invested in the idea of doing this show.   _Easy come, easy go_ , she thought bitterly.

"It can't be that fucking hard," Asha needled.  "But this is your first and last warning.  Fucking figure it out.  Dacey Mormont is just DYING for a shot at Vera."

She got up and strode out, not waiting for Cersei's reply, lighting her cigarette before she was even halfway out the door.

 

***********************

 

Two blocks down, Catelyn was restocking the front counter in the Silver Trout with some fresh lemon cakes from the back when the bells jangled on the front door and Oberyn came strolling in.

She looked pre-emptively embarrassed.  "Hello, Oberyn," she sighed.

He slid up to the counter.  "What kind of coffee you make in here?" he asked genially.

She pointed up at the chalkboard behind her, which listed a selection of fair trade coffees and espressos, all of which seemed to meet with approval as he quickly scanned over the list.  "I like their Colombian," he remarked, "it's very smooth.  Give me a cup of that, if you wouldn't mind, please."

Cat set it down in front of him.  "I imagine you didn't come here for a cup of the same coffee you serve at your own place."

Oberyn smiled.  "Guilty.  I came here to talk about you and Cersei.  You ladies have got to find a way to work together."

Catelyn began what could only be described as a tirade: "But Oberyn, it's... her miserable son has been harassing my daughter and she refused to do anything but defend him, and I've really got doubts about her being able to even learn this part, because for God's sake, you know how much she drinks, and she's been impossibly rude to me from almost jump, and-"

Oberyn put a hand up, his eyes twinkling a little.  "I know how much she drinks.  She was coming and drinking two, three glasses of wine at my place almost every day after work.  But do you know something?  When I convinced her to audition, she stopped coming.  I mean, I'm sure she didn't stop drinking altogether, but ... this show means something to her.  Maybe more than she even realizes."

Catelyn tugged at her apron uncomfortably.  "I... didn't realize that."  

Just then, Snow breezed in through the back, gave her a peck on the cheek.  "Hi Aunt Cat, hi Oberyn."

Oberyn surveyed Snow's curly ponytail and decided to just ask.  "Hello there, my friend.  Is it a he day or a she day?"

"Sorry, I know, the ponytail throws people," Snow answered cheerfully.  "But it's a he day."

Catelyn patted Snow's shoulder.  "There's a shipment of tea in the back, can you unpack it for me?"  

Snow scampered away.

"Anyway," Oberyn went on, "you have to imagine where she's at, Cat.  Like you, she lost her husband, but unlike you, she doesn't have a large, close-knit family around.  You know what Tywin is like.  And with Jaime in Iraq and Tyrion over in Savannah, it's been all about her kids."

Catelyn nodded, looking more and more shamefaced as he went on.

"So, you know.  Imagine yourself in that position, and now imagine Robb was more like Joffrey.  I'm not saying she doesn't have things to apologize for, you know, but, just..."

Catelyn was shaking her head now.  "No, you're right, Oberyn.  I wasn't thinking about any of that.  I..."

Oberyn sipped at his coffee, smiling expectantly.

"I... I need to think about this for a minute," she ventured after a bit.  

Oberyn set his cup down on the counter.  "I understand.  What do I owe  you for the coffee?"

"Oh please, it's on the house," she replied.  "You take care now, Oberyn," she called, quickly excusing herself to the kitchen in back to avoid any of the patrons seeing her eyes welling up with guilt.

  
  
**************************  


 

Cersei couldn't help rolling her eyes when Oberyn strolled through the front of door of Lannister Bank & Loan twenty minutes after Asha had just marched out of it.  "What's next," she demanded, "is someone from the stage crew going to be bringing the entire living room set in on casters next?"

Oberyn chuckled. "No, they haven't built it yet."

She gave him her best "resting bitch face" and asked, "So, what?  Have you come to threaten me too?"

Oberyn laughed, sitting on the edge of her desk as if it were a table in his restaurant.  "Come on, you think that's my style?"

Cersei smirked.  "I suppose not.  Can you get your ass off my desk, though?"

Oberyn plopped down into the chair across from her.  "Listen, I just want to tell you something.  I know Asha's pretty pissed right now, but... Catelyn needs this show just as much as you do."

Cersei began to protest that she didn't need it, but Oberyn cut her off.

"She's crushed under her own life, she just hides it better than most.  Imagine Robert left you with six kids, instead of three?  And one of them's getting harrassed at school?  And one of them is transgender or bigender or whatever poor Snow calls himself?  Herself?  You know?"

"Asha said she'd drop me if I didn't find a way to call a truce," Cersei said flatly.  "Is that true?"

Oberyn smiled.  "Well, I will try to talk her out of it, but the fact remains that you do need to work things out."  He patted her on the back.  "Take it easy on Catelyn Stark, Cersei, that's all."

He strolled out.

 

 


	10. Something Like Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Immovable objects are less immovable than they appear.

Arya wasn’t allowed to abuse Joffrey, but she didn’t have to go easy on him, either.

Syrio had made it clear that she was not to use her position of authority to do anything but teach the older boy what he needed to know.  He had not, however, exactly laid out for her in great detail what that might be.  She mostly put him through drills, quietly resenting having to teach him how to punch and kick when it seemed to her that it was the last thing a kid like that needed to know.  

“Again,” she told the older boy coolly.  “And keep your wrist straight.”  

“C’mon, man–” he began to protest.

“What’s my name in here?” she demanded sharply.

He huffed.  “Senpai,” he complained, “my arms are tired.  I need a second, ok?”

She bit back half a dozen cutting replies.  After half a second, she settled on, “You don’t get strong unless you push through that.”

Syrio could see the seething in her face, and as she stood watching him repeat the same punch sequence over and over, he came by and gently reminded her, “You came into this place with a lot of anger, too, Arya.”

She frowned at Syrio, and when Joffrey finished, she said, “That was terrible.  Stretch a little, and we’ll try again.”  When he shot her a dirty look, she added, “You’ll get good if you want to.  You have to want to.”  

On the other side of the room, Syrio smiled.  He’d said the same thing to her in the beginning.  

At the end of class, they stood outside in front of the dojo in the Riverlands strip mall, waiting for their rides.  He glanced down at her.  

“What?” she demanded.

“Green,” he remarked, eyeing her belt.  “What level is that?”

“It’s two below black.”

He furrowed his brow in what was clearly an effort to not look that impressed.  

“When you start to get good,” she went on, “you can go to tournaments.”

At this moment, Robb pulled up with Sansa in the passenger seat.  Joffrey shuffled his feet and stepped away from Arya a little.  Though he clearly understood that Arya could probably already kick his ass, it was still an instinctive response to a big, fit guy like Robb, who clearly wanted to have a go at him.  He picked up his backpack, took out a cigarette and lit it in an obvious attempt to look tougher.

Robb barely glanced at him.  “Hey Lucy Liu,” he joshed, punching Arya playfully in the shoulder.

Cersei’s Range Rover pulled up a moment later.  She stepped out.  Her eyes lit on Joffrey with the cigarette dangling from his lips.  “Joffrey Goddamn Baratheon, you are not getting in my truck with that goddamn thing hanging out of your mouth,” she informed him.  She glanced at Arya and Robb.  Robb said nothing.  Arya nodded in her direction. 

Joffrey was a jerk.  But his mom didn’t seem too easy to handle either.  Diplomacy demanded that she just shut up for now and head to the car.  “See you next time, Baratheon,” she said to Joff.  “Ms. Lannister,” she added as she walked away.

Arya could see Sansa looking out the window at the kid and his mother.  She got in the car.  

“I want that purse,” Sansa was muttering as they pulled away.  “I love Kate Spade.”

“There is no way on this earth that Mom is gonna let you spend four hundred dollars on a damn handbag,” Arya needled, jerking her back to reality.

Sansa sighed.  “I know.”

“We  _ could _ ,” Robb piled on, “but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“I  _ know _ !”  Sansa sulked for a minute as they hit the bypass and headed for home.  “I just wish she and mom could be friends, that’s all.”

“Because of her clothes,” Arya said incredulously.

Sansa didn’t say anything more.

  
  
  


*********************

  
  
  
  


The doorbell rang around seven p.m., pulling Cersei from the kitchen where she was draining water from the egg noodles she’d made to go with the beef stew that was simmering in the slow-cooker.  Gangsta rap thudded through the floor of Joff’s room, Myrcella ground away at a particularly difficult Chopin piece on the living room piano, and Tommen, having finished his homework hours ago, was watching wrestling on television (the one odd taste he’d gotten from Robert) and occasionally shouting at the screen.  The cacophony in her house was not unlike what it felt like to be in her head most of the time, which, she supposed, was why she drank as much she did. And now the doorbell.  Who the hell could be showing up at her door now, of all times?

She opened the door to find Catelyn Stark, in a grey raincoat, standing under the dripping eaves.

Cersei regarded her silently for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” the redhead apologized, “I know it’s probably dinnertime for you-“

“It is,” Cersei cut her off.  “What do you want?”

Catelyn took a breath, seeming to doubt her own convictions at coming here for a moment.  “I’m sorry,” she said again, “it’s just you’re on the way home for me.”  She leveled her gaze at Cersei’s.  “I just… I wanted to apologize for what happened at rehearsal yesterday.  I’ve had a moment to think about it and I … I really can’t excuse the way I behaved, and… and if you don’t feel you can work with me after it, I’m willing to bow out.”  She paused, clearly uncomfortable.  “I suppose we got off on the wrong foot and I’ve let myself blame you for things that I… I of all people really should have been more understanding about.”

Cersei regarded her for a moment.  She couldn’t figure out what her angle was, here.  She couldn’t possibly be actually offering to give up her leading role just because she felt bad about that little display yesterday, could she?  In her own day, Cersei could certainly recall having been just as brutal with people without an ounce of guilt about it.  Life was tough, she thought, why can’t I be?

After an awkward silence, Catelyn added, “Anyway, you don’t need one more person piling on, so…I’ll leave it up to you.”  Half-turning, she added, “And, um… you know, if you ever want to talk about anything… you know how to get a hold of me.”  She started off back down the steps toward her car.

Nothing frustrated Cersei more than not being able to find the angle, but she couldn’t.  Was Catelyn really just being this kind?  It seemed unbelievable after the way Joff had behaved toward her daughter.  After the way she’d had to defend him in Principal Pycelle’s office even though she knew in her bones that he’d been as much of an asshole as they’d said.

“Catelyn,” she called after her.

Catelyn stopped and turned around, looking expectant.

“You don’t have to drop out,” she said quickly after a moment.

“Are you sure?”

Cersei nodded.  “Yes.”  Another awkward pause.  “I can’t ask you to do that. Besides, I started it, I think.”  

Catelyn looked mildly amused at this. “So you can dish it out…?”

“And so can you, Mrs Stark, let’s not kid ourselves.”. 

Catelyn’s lips curled but she said nothing.

“You know,” Cersei began carefully, “I didn’t know why that cake had meaning for you, Catelyn.  I just remembered hearing that it was something you ordered on special occasions.”

Catelyn bit her lip, looking a little embarrassed.  “It’s alright.  I may have assumed too much and … overreacted.”

Cersei pushed the screen door open, suddenly becoming aware that it was pouring and, raincoat or no, she’d let Catelyn stand outside in it for this entire conversation.  “Do you… do you want to come in?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “Thank you, but I really can’t.  I have to get home.  Just like you, I’ve got a house full of kids who need to be fed, and it’s late.”  She gave a conciliatory smile.

Cersei stepped outside and jogged over to her through the rain, and held out her hand.  “We can make it work,” she promised. “We don’t have to be Patsy and Edina, but…we can keep it clean, right?” 

Catelyn paused for half a second, then took her hand and shook it once. “You’ve got my word.” The rain was running hard down Cersei’s face and her shirt was fast becoming damp. “You ought to get back inside,” she advised, releasing Cersei’s hand.

Cersei nodded once, and without another word, jogged back in.


	11. Buried Treasure

Cersei poured Jaime a brandy and watched the sun go down from the porch swing.

“No rehearsal tonight?” he asked, sipping from the tulip shaped cognac glass.

“Nope.  Tonight's a crew night.”  She sipped at her own glass. “Where’s Captain Carter?”

Jaime smirked.  “Having another little dinner down at the diner.”

“Which, the L&L?  That place is hardly something to write home about.”  She sighed and sipped her brandy.  “Then again, I suppose she’s used to English food, and then military food…”

Jaime grinned.  “It ain’t the food,” he drawled, amused with himself.  

Cersei’s eyes narrowed, and set her glass down on the end table.  “Now you listen to me, Captain Jamie Lannister, you’d better not be playing with me.  What is it between you two?”

Jaime chuckled.  “Me and Jack?  Nothin’, darlin’, I told you, she was my wingman.”

“Come now,” Cersei pressed.  “Nothing more?”

Jaime shook his head.  “I’m not her type.”

Cersei snorted.  “Nonsense, Jaime, you’re every woman’s type.”

“Not hers,” he insisted, seeming to grow more amused.

Cersei glared at him.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighed, still chuckling.  “You really need me to spell it out?”

She huffed at him.  “I suppose you’d best.”

“Well, alright, then.” He sipped his brandy and paused for dramatic effect.  “L-E-S-B-I-A-N.”

Cersei’s mouth dropped open.  If she were wearing pearls, she’d have clutched them.  “No.”

Jaime laughed out loud now.  “Come on, Cersei, you couldn’t figure that out?”

She lifted her chin imperiously.  “It is a well known fact, Captain Lannister, that I have no gaydar whatsoever.”

He snickered.  “Anyhow, she’s got her eye on that little waitress at the L&L.  Been there three times already since we rolled into town.”

Cersei couldn’t figure out why she was having trouble breathing all of a sudden.   She decided to change the subject.  “So,” she began breezily, “Catelyn Stark and I have called a truce.”

He smirked.  “Will wonders never cease?”

Cersei scoffed at him.  “I know how to bury a hatchet when I have to.”

“Sure, just like you did with Reverend Sparrow.”

Cersei folded her arms.  “You know damn well I am justified to hold that grudge till the end of time,” she retorted.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he mused.  “But there’s only so many Presbyterian Churches in town, dear sister.”  He sipped his brandy.  “But … I suppose there’s only so many musical theaters in town as well.”  His green eyes twinkled at her. Like he knew something she wasn’t saying.

“I don’t know what you think you’re looking at,” she grumped at him.  Where did he get off giving her such a look?  Anyone else would be thrown through the front door without her even taking the trouble to open it first.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Knock it off, Captain Lannister.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I hate you.”

“Yep.  Mm-hmm.”

  


*********************

 

Wildling’s Lumber and Hardware was a good ten minutes from the theater.  But they had everything a stage crew could possibly want or need to build whatever their hearts desired.  And more than that, they actually knew their way around what they were selling.  Ygritte and her old man, Tormund, knew what size planks you needed for building a proper riser, what coarseness of sandpaper you wanted for sanding something pre- or post-varnish, and that if you planned on using actual water in your show you’d better go with the outdoor paint if you wanted to re-use any of the pieces you were building.  Frey’s Hardware might have been around the corner, but they’d sell you the wrong thing and then give you a hard time about exchanging it, insisting that you should have known what you were buying.

So when the tall, curly-haired girl came from the theater, with big, dark eyes, pouty lips, and a list of items clutched in her hand, Ygritte could tell from the slightly stressed look on her face that she’d already been to Frey’s and encountered their usual warm, ingratiating attitudes.  And, on closer inspection, from the way she clutched the shopping list,  that she probably didn’t know exactly what every item on her list even was.

Far be it from Ygritte to let a damsel remain in distress.  “Can I help you, darlin’?”  She slid out from behind the counter.  “Don’t wanna presume, but you look a little bit lost.”  

The pretty girl smiled shyly and held up a list.  She spoke, and her voice was surprisingly low and rich.  “Gendry over at the theater sent me over with this list.  I went to Frey’s ‘cause it was closer and he damn near had a fit.  They aren’t much help over there.”

Ygritte smiled, inside and out.  She knew it.  “Ol’ Walder still the model of customer service, I guess?”  The pretty girl nodded.  “Yeah, thought so.  Lemme see that list, darlin’, Gendry’s a pretty smart shopper.  I’m sure we’ve got what he needs.”  She plucked the list from the girl’s hands and looked it over.  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that those were some pretty well-defined biceps that disappeared under the sleeves of that yellow sundress.  A real stunner, this one.  Tormund was prone to wag his finger at her for flirting with the customers, especially the girls, but she couldn’t help herself.  She was willing to bet he wouldn’t even be mad if he got a look at this one.  “I’ll take good care of you, darlin’, not to worry.”  And she winked.

And Lord if that pretty girl in the yellow sundress didn’t blush something fierce.  

Ygritte wrote up the order, making small talk with her while she filled out the paper.  “So, I’ll let you leave now with all the hardware –I can help you load that into the car if you want– and then I’ll send the truck over with the lumber as soon as Osha gets back with it.”  

The girl seemed incredibly grateful.  She also didn’t seem to mind the flirting.  Well if that wasn’t a damn jackpot, Ygritte was hard pressed to think of one.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Ygritte drawled, wasting a few idle seconds before going off to get the hardware.  “You don’t go to Westeros North, do you?”

The girl shook her head.  “Nope, Westeros South.”

Ygritte grinned.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t hold it against you.”  She knelt down and dug out several boxes of ⅞” screws.  “I sure hope you don’t mind me asking, but… you’re not on the archery team, are you?”

The girl shook her head.  Then she flexed her arm a little and those biceps coiled to life.  Ygritte resisted the urge to fan herself.  “It’s the arms, right?  I just work out a lot.”

“Bet you’d be great at it,” Ygritte pursued.  

The girl demurred.  “Well, I’m awfully busy–”

Just then, one of the Wildling family’s big red hunting hounds came bounding out of the back, with the gleam of enthusiasm in its eye that Ygritte knew usually meant trouble.  “Orell!” she shouted.  “Aw, hell, you dumb mutt, get in back!”  But Orell took one look at that pretty girl and made a beeline straight for her. _Well, that’s the end of that,_ Ygritte thought with frustration.

But the girl leaned down and inside of a second, she had Orell putting his paw in her hand, and then rolling over to have his belly scratched.  “I’ll be damned,” Ygritte exclaimed under her breath.

The girl smiled, this time broadly.  “He’s a beauty, this one.”  She looked back at him.  “Orell?  Is that your name?  You’re a good boy!  Aren’t you, boy?  You’re a handsome boy too!”  She scratched his belly some, and the hound lolled his limbs out in all directions.

Usually people were freaked out by Orell when he was in one of his very affectionate moods.  He was a big dog and it was frankly too much for most people.  Especially girls.  But this girl could handle him.  Didn’t even blink.  Ygritte thought she really might be in love.

“I volunteer at the animal shelter,” the girl explained, never taking her eyes off of Orell.  “My whole family has dogs, all my brothers and sisters.  I trained them myself.”  

Ygritte finished putting the order together on the dolly to bring it out to the car.  “Bet you did a real fine job too.”

The girl patted Orell on the head and Ygritte wheeled the dolly out to the girl’s car, an oldish blue Chevy Impala in need of a washing.  She helped load the order into the trunk.

“Well,” Ygritte said once the trunk was loaded.  “I’m going to be seeing a lot of you, I guess.  Gendry sends the crew on runs all the time for stuff, so you’re gonna get tired of seeing me.”

The girl blushed again.  “I doubt that.”  She slipped past and got into the car.  “I’ll see you soon…?”  She looked up, realizing that they hadn’t exchanged names.

“Ygritte.”

The girl smiled.  It was like pure sunshine.  “My name’s Snow.”

  


********

  
  


So Arya found the manual to the sound board in the booth, downloaded the pdf onto her phone and began trying to learn how to run the sound for a five hundred seat theater.  The whole thing was completely nuts.  

But she got to sit in the booth with the pretty blonde girl.  Her name was Dany, and she liked to talk about military history and she played Dungeons and Dragons.  She was on an accelerated track at the local university, which Arya figured meant she had to be at least eighteen.  That was a lot of years difference when you were only fourteen.  So Arya did what anyone would do, and lied worse than a cheap rug about her grades and what she knew about sound, because the last thing she wanted was to look stupid in front of a hot older girl that she really badly wanted to impress.  

On her first night in the booth, she discovered, she could see Snow and wave to them sometimes.   _Dummy_ , she thought, when she noticed Snow had shown up to work crew in a sundress.  The young crew chief, Gendry, spent a minute or so looking exasperated, then handed Snow a piece of paper and pen and started talking while they wrote.

“So,” Dany continued, fiddling with something underneath the light board and not seeming to notice Arya’s momentary distraction with Snow, “your best character is?”

“A halfling assassin.”  She gestured to her own short frame with a little grin.  “Obviously.”

  


*************************

 

Robb and his girlfriend Talisa spilled into the front of the house with Bran close behind them.  Talisa and Bran were bantering back and forth about something but Sansa couldn’t quite tell what at first.  

“It’s about damn time,” Talisa was saying, her dark eyes dancing merrily.

“Listen, I’m very choosy,” he retorted.

“I was just about ready to drag you to the ER…”

“The E.R.??”

“Yeah, I figured we could hang around outside and wait for some pretty RN’s to walk by…”

“That is literally the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

“It’s not.”

Talisa, like Robb, was the oldest of five.  She was the child of a big, loving, busybody Filipino family who had very few secrets and constantly meddled in one another’s business.  While her style was a little more aggressive than the Starks were used to, it had clicked almost instantly.  Talisa’s family had adopted Robb almost immediately, because unlike the other white boys she’d brought home, he was able to walk around with her toddler twin sisters hanging one from each leg, and eat her mom’s spicy dinuguan without bursting into tears.

Sansa looked up from the pile of photographs she was weeding through on the kitchen table.  “What are you two at each other about now?”

Talisa poked Bran.  “He got a girl’s phone number.”

Sansa clapped her hands.  “Where?”

Bran didn’t want to talk about it.  Sansa was pretty sure she saw him blushing a little under his light sprinkling of freckles.

“The record store,” Robb supplied helpfully.  “She works there.  He picked her up in the 80s vinyl section.”

Sansa nodded thoughtfully.  “That’s a good sign for you, Bran.”

Talisa interjected, “And she knows who Stiff Little Fingers is.”  She grinned.  “I guess that’s important to your brother.”

Sansa knew more than she particularly wanted to about relatively obscure punk thanks to Bran’s interest in it.  “That _is_ important,” she agreed.  “So what’s her name?  When are you going to call her?”

“Her name’s Meera,” he said, and he was still embarrassed but starting to relax.

“Wait two days,” Robb advised.  “Don’t call her right away or you’ll seem too thirsty.”

Talisa smacked him in the shoulder.  “You don’t even follow your own advice,” she chastised him.  “When I gave you my number, you called me an hour later, from your car on your way home from track practice.”

Bran hooted at his brother.

“Yeah, don’t listen to him,” Sansa added.  “If you like her, don’t wait.  You don’t want her to think you’re not interested.  What if she meets some other cute boy tomorrow who thinks Green Day is overrated?”

Bran seemed to consider this.  He wheeled over to Sansa at the table.  “What’s all this?” he asked, looking to change the subject.

“Oh!  Well, I think these are a bunch of Mom’s old college photos.  I found this box while I was in the attic looking for Rickon’s old chest of dress-up clothes …”

“Why were you looking for Rickon’s dress-up chest?”

“Donations,” Sansa answered quickly, and moved on.  “But yeah, I found this box of all these old photos … Look how hot Mom was!”

She held up a picture of twenty year old Catelyn Stark with another young woman, a radiant blonde with very long legs, both wearing crop tops and cutoffs, holding what looked like mai-tais on a beach somewhere.  

“Mom went on Spring Break???” Bran gasped.

“Sure looks like it.”  Sansa started flipping through the pile.  “And look, she surfed in college too, did you know that?  I didn’t!  I guess it makes sense, she went to UCLA for undergrad, but… I had no clue.”

Talisa drifted over and peered over Sansa’s shoulder.  “Wow, look at her.  Who is that blonde?  Do you know her?”

Sansa shook her head.  “No but she must have been a roommate or something, she’s in a lot of these pictures.”  She flipped through some more pictures.  Catelyn and Mystery Blonde at the park together, another of them doing shots at a sorority party, one of Mystery Blonde taking a nap….

She stopped on one photo and they all went quiet for a minute.  “Wow,” Robb finally said.  

“Wow,” Bran agreed.

“Holy mother of crap,” Talisa added for good measure.

Sansa just sat smirking, like she had uncovered buried treasure.

 

 


	12. Something in the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catelyn gets ready to deal with Cersei again.

Snow always got a little sad when they met someone they liked, because usually, the person they liked was put off to find out that the cute boy they met sometimes liked to be a girl, or that the pretty girl they wanted to get to know sometimes liked to be a boy. The conversations, when they happened, were always weird or awkward, or occasionally fetish-y, which would seem cool at first and then slowly become awkward and gross. Straight boys got angry, gay boys got confused, and the girls… well, the girls always hugged Snow and said they'd try to understand, but then they'd never call again.

So Snow always got a little sad, because meeting someone they liked inevitably meant they soon had a date with disappointment.

Aunt Catelyn seemed to understand. And now Snow knew why; Robb had told them about the photos they’d found. It made sense. Aunt Cat had probably had her share of disappointments too.

So, Snow sat, late in the evening, musing about the pretty girl who’d flirted with them today. Wondering what she’d say if she met Snow on a day when they were feeling more like a boy.

Cat wandered in, looking for a drink. She found Snow sitting at the table, munching on cookies and reading their biology review sheet for tomorrow’s quiz. Cat came over and ruffled their hair. “You ready for that quiz?”

Snow nodded. “Yeah.”

Catelyn could hear something bothering them. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” And then a moment later, “No.”

Catelyn got herself a glass from the cabinet and poured herself some water from the pitcher in the fridge that had some lemon slices in it. “Want to talk about it?”

“I met a girl,” Snow said morosely. “She flirted with me. She works at the hardware store.”

Catelyn sighed and sat down with her water. “And you want to get to know her. But you’re worried what she’s going to think about your “he” days.”

Snow nodded. “I feel like I shouldn’t even try.”

Catelyn patted Snow on the back. “Honey, you’ve no idea what her story is. I understand how scary it is to reach out to someone who may or may not want what you’ve got. But you could be missing the chance at something special if you don’t.”

Snow munched on another chocolate chip hazelnut cookie for a moment. “But gay girls always–”

Catelyn stopped them right away. “How do you know she’s gay?”

“She flirted with me, Aunt Cat. Really hard.”

“But how do you know she’s not bisexual? Or pansexual? How do you know she even cares about labels like that at all?”

Snow paused. “I… I guess I don’t.”

Catelyn nodded. “Honey, you still have a shot. Be careful with your heart, but you should understand that you still have a shot.” She stood up. “And be careful with those cookies too. Too many will give you a little belly like your friend Sam.” She winked.

Snow smiled. Aunt Cat always knew how to make them feel better.

 

**

  
Catelyn was the first one in the door when Tyrell’s opened the next morning. In two days, she’d be rehearsing with Cersei Lannister again; this time it would be mainly a choreography rehearsal, which had her a little nervous. Not because of her dancing, that was competent enough, but seeing Cersei again and trying to get on with her was still a fraught prospect. So she was stopping to buy some fresh lilies for the Silver Trout to buoy her mood.

Little Margaery and her handsome brother gave Catelyn matching radiant grins when she walked in. Nobody had a right to be that good-looking, she thought. It was no wonder Renly Baratheon had snapped Loras up, though she was bewildered as to how Margaery wasn’t spoken for (at least so far as Catelyn knew). Furthermore, nobody had a right to be that cheerful at seven in the morning.

“Morning Ms. Stark,” Margaery greeted her warmly. “They say it’s gonna be a scorcher today, hope you’ll be making up some of that nice lemonade at the Trout!”

Catelyn smiled. “Yes, I plan on it.”

“What’s your secret?” Margaery whispered conspiratorially. “Why’s it so good? It don’t taste like any other pink lemonade I’ve ever had.”

Catelyn chuckled. “Well, my Sansa has a good touch with these things, to tell the truth. The secret ingredients weren’t my idea.”

Margaery grinned. “Alright, alright, you don’t need to tell me. Let me guess, you coming in for some flowers to send over to the loan office?”

Catelyn shook her head. “No, just a few dozen lilies to put around at the Trout.”

Margaery opened the fridge and took out a bucket of white calla lilies. “Two dozen ought to do it, right, Ms. Stark?”

Catelyn nodded. Margaery’s way was perhaps a little too ingratiating, a little too on the nose, but she appreciated things like her remembering how many tables were in the trout and knowing how many lilies would do the job.

“So,” Margaery inquired as she bundled up the lilies, wrapping them together two by two for the vases on Catelyn’s tables, “I guess you smoothed things out with Ms Lannister, then?”

“In a manner of saying,” Catelyn confirmed. “We’re cast together in that musical at the theater.”

Margaery looked very pleased with herself. “So you did audition after all!”

Catelyn admitted, “Yes. You were right, it was a good idea, and my kids are all pitching in so I can do it.” Margaery was dressed for a hot day and her cleavage was a little too much for Catelyn to deal with just now, so she wandered over and started inspecting some large glass vases near the register. “Anyhow, we had a bit of a rocky start but we’ve agreed to bury the hatchet.”

“Long as she don’t bury the hatchet in you,” Loras joked.

Margaery shot him a dirty look. “Brother dear, I think you’d best get these lilies out to Ms Stark’s car and stop talking immediately.” She fixed her feline blue eyes on Catelyn. “Now don’t you listen to my brother,” she assured her as he headed out to the car with Cat’s lilies. “I know the Lannister family just as well as any family in Westeros, and I’ll tell you what. Cersei’s a tough nut to crack but if she gives you her word on something, she keeps it. Good or bad. That’s how the Lannisters are. It’s the only reason my grandma will do business with ol’ Tywin.”

As if on cue, the chimes on the front door jingled and Olenna Tyrell marched in; fashionably dressed, sporting a tangerine silk Hermes scarf and large Chanel sunglasses that took up half her face, and with more spring in her step than a woman of seventy-five would usually be expected to have.

“Grandma!” Margaery exclaimed. “Your ears must have been ringing.”

Olenna grunted. “No, Grandma’s Meniere’s isn’t acting up today.” She nodded toward Catelyn. “Morning, Ms. Stark.”

Catelyn nodded. “Morning, Ms. Tyrell.”

“I was just telling Ms. Stark here that the Lannisters are always good on their word, isn’t that right, Grandma?”

Olenna sighed. “That’s for damn sure.” She seemed about to say something tart, but Margaery interrupted her.

“Because Ms. Stark has just been cast with Ms. Lannister in the musical and they’ve made a gentlewoman’s agreement to keep things civilized.” She leaned forward on the counter, giving her grandmother a very significant look.

Olenna nodded, seeming to pick up on it. “I see. Well, I’ll be looking forward to making your dresses, then,” Olenna said politely.

Catelyn smiled and handed Margaery her card to be rung up. They made some more small talk about Olenna’s love of sewing and her work as the seamstress for the shows at the theater, and then Catelyn left with her flowers, feeling mildly better about the situation. Cersei Lannister might be damn difficult but if she’d given her word to keep it civilized, she was likely to keep it, it seemed. Catelyn decided it was enough to hang her hat on for now.

 

*******

 

After the door jingled shut behind Catelyn, Olenna took off her glasses and appraised Margaery. “Want to tell me what all that was about?”

Margaery shrugged. “Ms. Stark just seemed a little nervous about things going alright in the show. She and Ms Lannister had a little trouble over something or other, but it seems they’ve called a truce. I was just trying to make her comfortable, that’s all.”

Olenna humphed. “I reckon Ms. Tully can handle herself just fine,” she grunted.

Margaery gave her grandmother a confused look. “Tully?”

“The Starks may have just moved here, but Catelyn was born and raised here. She moved up north and got married but moved back down here after her husband died. She’s as Westeros as you or me, and more to the point, she’s a Tully to the bone.”

Margaery cocked her head. She’d heard the Tully name of course, they owned some properties like the Riverlands mall and that big golf course at the south end of town that nestled in the crook of the river. She had this sense that Catelyn Stark was very typically Tully in her look, now that her grandmother mentioned it; tallish, broad cheekbones, red hair. She’d not had much dealing with the Tully family personally, for whatever reason. “How’s that, Grandma?”

“Well, her father Hoster’s a contemporary of mine, you know, and he’s about the only straight and narrow one in the lot. Hoster had a sister, Brenda, who became his brother Brynden about twenty years ago…”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Margaery interjected.

“Hmph,” Olenna replied. “Nothing indeed. Hoster had two other kids besides Miss Catelyn. His boy, Edmure, he’s a good boy but dumber than a sack of hammers. When the Lord was handing out brains, he got in line twice... for heart. And his other girl, Lysa, well… she’s a bit of work. Bipolar, and none too shy about it. She’ll take her Lithium right in the middle of lunch and not make any bones about what it is and what it’s for.”

Margaery shrugged. “Well, we’ve all got our family quirks,” she said dismissively. “I mean, Dad’s an idiot, and Loras is gay. So what?”

“I’m just saying, don’t be fooled by that Stark name. Catelyn Stark is a Tully. Tullys are quirky as all hell. Good people, God bless ‘em, but there’s something in that river water. Even that Catelyn, you know she had a taste for leggy blonde girls back in high school. I was a little surprised when I heard she’d married that Ned fellow. I’d thought for sure she’d end up living in Northhampton, wearing flannel and hosting an NPR show about gardening or some such.”

Margaery chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll keep it in mind, Grandma.”

“Now,” Olenna said, leaning closer. “I believe you’ve got some special flowers for your old Grandma today?”

Margaery pulled out from beneath the counter a ziplock bag containing some of the stickiest, hairiest, most fragrant weed in town.

“That’s my girl,” Olenna sighed happily.


	13. Nobody's A Stranger

Small towns have the virtue of everyone knowing everyone else.  Nobody is a stranger.  You can count on your neighbor to pitch in and help you out sometimes, or if not, you know that about them and at least manage to save yourself the trouble of asking. 

Small towns also have the  _ downside _ of everyone knowing everyone else.  Nobody is a stranger.  You can count on your neighbor to be well aware of whatever so-called skeletons you might have hanging in what you might have mistakenly believed to be a closet.  And you can generally count on those skeletons eventually making the rounds, getting borrowed by a high school chemistry class, or getting gnawed on by your neighbor’s dog after after getting left in a lawn chair overnight because your neighbor’s teenager wanted to re-enact Weekend at Bernie’s.

The chain of transmission on one particular skeleton followed thusly:

Loras Tyrell, at noontime on the day that Catelyn Stark came into the shop to buy lilies, left the fields and returned to the shop with some of the Silver Trout’s coveted pink lemonade.  Over their twin takeout cups, Margaery regaled Loras on the subject of the Tully family.  Loras, like Margaery herself, seemed to have only a vague idea who they were, but gladly tucked away the information their grandmother had dispensed, because well, you never knew when it would be useful.

Renly Baratheon, later that evening, took Loras out for a romantic dinner at Boca Bistro.  Loras had a bouquet of fresh lilacs for Renly, and Renly swore that if Loras had more like that, he’d buy the whole lot and use them to make a new batch of candles and soaps.  While Renly’s shop, Salt & Smoke, carried lots of bath salts, candles and incense from outside producers, Renly had begun in recent years to produce his own artisanal products, coincidentally at around the same time he started dating Loras and getting first pick of their premium florals for his soaps.

Renly caught him up on the goings-on of the shop, and who came in and bought what, and then eventually it came around to gossip: “Did you know that Maege Mormont isn’t a lesbian? I’d have put money on it!”  

Not to be outdone, Loras replied, “No!  But do you know who is?”  And then he opened the box of Tully family treasures Margaery had given him that very morning.

Well, Renly knew the Tully family of course, if in passing, because who didn’t the Baratheons know in Westeros. Besides, his brothers had had to get cozy with all the old money around town when it was time to run for mayor.  Hoster Tully had backed Robert when he ran, and would have backed Stannis if he'd been around when Stannis ran.  And Catelyn Tully?  Why, she was his Mame. 

So naturally, when Oberyn came by to see how they were enjoying their paella and queso de cabra, Renly just had to make him sit down at the table with them immediately, to Loras’s mild chagrin, and recount to him, word for word, what Loras had just told him.

Oberyn seemed truly tickled.  “You know,” he mused, “all that acrimony between her and Cersei… maybe it’s just sexual tension.”

“Leggy blondes, that was what my grandma told Margie,”  Loras contributed.

Oberyn smiled wickedly.  He and Renly were looking at each other.  They’d done enough shows together for Renly to know all too well Oberyn’s tendency to meddle and play Cupid and whatnot.

“I got an idea,” Oberyn said.

“Aw, shit,” said Renly.

Loras, who knew that the way Renly said “Aw, shit” meant he’d already decided he was going to go along with whatever hairbrained scheme Oberyn had in mind, added, “Goddamnit.”

  
  


******************************

  
  


Catelyn and Cersei stood and watched nervously as Oberyn and Renly demonstrated the choreography for their number together.  it wasn’t that the steps were hard, exactly -- Catelyn had certainly been a competent enough ballroom dancer in her younger days and she wasn’t above learning something new if she had to, anyway-- it was just that it involved an awful lot of… touching.  And hand holding.  And air kisses at one point.  And a bit of cheek to cheek.  They’d only made their fragile pact to work harder at tolerating each other a week ago. This was really pushing things a bit.

It didn’t help, she supposed, that Oberyn and Renly appeared to be having a terribly good time doing it.  They finished the number with their arms around each others’ waists and looked at Catelyn and Cersei with raised eyebrows.  “So what do you think?” Oberyn asked them.  “You guys think you can handle that or should we work with Renly to simplify it a little?”

Cersei’s ego kicked in.  It couldn’t be helped.  “Of course I can handle it,” she snapped.  “You certainly don’t need to simplify it for  _ my _ sake.”

Catelyn ignored the dig and stepped forward.  “Mine neither.  So, Oberyn, you were dancing what was meant to be my part, yes?”

He nodded, grinning.  

“It’s very nice.  It’s a bit… well, almost romantic,” she remarked, trying to keep her voice somewhat neutral.

“Isn’t it?” Renly agreed, gleeful.  “I just love the way ladies are able to do that!  They can totally romanticize each other without it being sexual, and that was how Asha described the way she wanted their relationship to read.  Like even though they’re saying all this really mean stuff, there’s deep friendship and love underneath it.”

Catelyn gave a stiff nod and they took their positions.  

The number started off with them side by side, arms linked.  She felt the floor creaking under her feet, Cersei’s hand gripping her upper arm (tighter than she needed to be, Cat thought disapprovingly).  Oberyn and Renly walked them through the first set of steps, and she found herself staring at their feet, throwing multiple shadows of different hues from the stage lights, moving together.  At first they were out of sync, but after a few passes, the steps came together and when Oberyn played the number at close to regular tempo, they were moving in unison, in sync with each other and the treble-y tones of the piano washing across the stage, stepping neatly back and forth in the red, blue and green floods.  She noticed out of the corner of her eye the way the colors glanced off of Cersei’s hair.  She hated to admit it, but once they were dressed in Olenna’s shiny, satiny creations with the lights on them, they were really going to be something worth watching.  Assuming they could get the steps right.

They managed, with some awkwardness, to get through the sections that required them to stand closer than others, the particular bugaboo being a spot where they were supposed to do a tango-like step that had them moving together, cheek to cheek.  They tried to keep a bit of distance between them, but Renly wasn’t having any of it, and shoved them closer to each other, commanding, “Come on now, ladies, you two are best friends!  You’ve walked each other home drunk a thousand times, fallen asleep on the couch together, held each other’s hair when you’ve thrown up, all that stuff!  You’d be married if you weren’t both ladies in the 1940s, okay?!”  he exclaimed in his too-adorable drawl.

Catelyn heard Cersei exhale a little in annoyance as he pushed them together.

“Don’t worry, Cersei,” she retorted, quiet enough to be audible only to Cersei and no-one else, “I’m not enjoying this either.”

They positioned themselves and she settled in, letting her cheek rest against Cersei’s, which felt like it was burning up. 

“You’re a little warm,” Catelyn remarked.  “You’d better not be sick.  I can’t afford to catch anything.”

Cersei scoffed.  “I’m just uncomfortable.  Aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

It was true, she realized, she was sweating a little.  It really probably wasn’t necessary to have all the damned stage lights up just for the first choreography rehearsal.

“Don’t worry,” Cersei reassured her.  She tilted her head a little to throw a look her way.  “It’ll be over soon enough.”

“That’s not soon enough,” Catelyn rejoined, keeping her eyes dead ahead.  She thought she felt Cersei smirk at that.

And then Renly called out, “And five, six, seven, eight!”

  
  
  


******************

  
  


“...nine, ten, eleven ….. Snow, we’re short half a dozen boxes of quarter-inch bolts.  You sure you ordered it right?”

Snow nodded.  “Check the slip, Gendry.  It should be on there just like I ordered.”

Gendry checked the order slip from Wildling’s and sure enough, they’d been written up.  They just hadn’t been loaded into the car with the rest of the order.  “Alright Snow, can you run back over there and ask Tormund or his girl for the other six boxes?”  He handed Snow the slip.

Snow had had the good sense to show up to work crew that night in some loose jeans, steel-toed boots, and an overly-large, ironically-worn Hootie and the Blowfish tour shirt, with their hair stuffed up under a skate beanie. They were ready for anything.  “Sure.  I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Gendry made a face but didn’t say anything.  “Jiffy” wasn’t a particularly masculine word, Snow guessed.  But nevermind that.  After a moment of confusion, Gendry was happier to see a person who was dressed to work crew than he had been to see a girl in a yellow sundress.  

On the way over to Wildling’s, Snow mused about whether to take the hair down or leave it up, or try to stick out their chest a little more or not.  Maybe Ygritte wouldn’t even be there at this hour on a school night and this was all a waste of energy to even worry about it.

They walked up through the front door.  Ygritte was behind the counter, trying to explain to a tall, broad-shouldered blond woman with very short hair that they were going to have to order whatever it was she was looking for.  The woman wasn’t particularly satisfied with that answer but Ygritte was so smooth, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.  “Trust me,” she assured her, “let us order it for you.  It’ll be here inside of a week.  Frey’s wouldn’t even know what it is, much less carry it.  And there’s a fifty-fifty chance that if they special ordered it for you, they’d order you the wrong thing.”

Snow waited patiently till Ygritte was done dealing with the woman, and then walked up to the counter, stomach pinging with butterflies.  Ygritte looked up at them, smiling just the same as she had when Snow was in here the last time.

“Can I help you?  I sure hope I can.”

Same flirting.  Did she just act that way with everyone?  She was smooth with that other woman, but not flirty, not like this.  Snow swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a bit of dry-mouth.  They held up the slip.  “Hey, um, I’m from the theater… I don’t know if you remember this order, but I guess the, uh… Gendry said you forgot six boxes of quarter-inch bolts.”

Ygritte nodded.  She leaned down underneath the counter and lugged them out to place them on top.  “Sorry about that.  Listen … I hope you don’t mind me asking but… have you got a twin sister helping out over there?”

Snow shook their head.  “No, not quite.”

Ygritte grinned.  “A cousin, then?  Because I’ll be honest with you.  I didn’t forget these bolts.  I didn’t pack ‘em on purpose.  I was kinda hoping they’d send that cute girl back here to pick ‘em up.”  

Snow blushed.  “Um, well… no … I mean … it’s me…”  Before they knew what they were doing, their hand was reaching up and tugging off the beanie, and pulling out the elastics, and letting all their lovely curls come spilling down.  “Today was just ... more of a boy day.  Crew days are probably always gonna be boy days.”

Ygritte didn’t ask what that meant.  She just looked completely delighted that the cute boy who just walked in turned out to be the cute girl she’d been flirting with a few days ago.  “That’s ok, I like boy days.  Maybe I’ll see you one day when you’re not working crew and I’ll be lucky enough to catch you in that yellow dress again.”

Snow took a deep breath.  “Well, listen, are you… are you on Instagram?”

Ygritte nodded.  “I don’t go on it much, but yeah.”  She gestured around.  “How many pictures of power tools can a girl post, you know?”

Snow grabbed the pen on the counter and wrote their profile name,  _ snowstark _ .  “Follow me on Instagram.”  Their heart was jumping around and tripping over itself in their chest.  This was it.  Ygritte would go on, and see a year’s worth of selfies:  Snow, with hair in curls and lipstick on, wearing a necklace that said “she”, or with skate clothes and a beanie and a necklace that said “he”, or in flip flops and board shorts with hair in a ponytail and a caption on the photo that read “they.”  

“Are there sundress pictures?”

“Yep.  And pictures like this.  It just depends.”

Ygritte didn’t seem bothered.  “Can’t wait.”

Snow gathered up the bolts and said a quick goodbye, hurrying out to the car before they could say anything else to embarrass themselves.  They couldn’t even remember as they drove away what else they said as they were leaving, but it didn’t matter.  They hadn’t even gotten all the way back to the theater when the notifications started pinging on Snow’s phone.  They pulled it out, and saw Instagram notifications, one after the other, after the other:   _ “wildling_grrl liked your photo” _ over and over and over.


	14. Scheming and Dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa begins sleuthing, and hatches a plan.

Sansa Stark had a lot more of her father in her than people gave her credit for.  What that meant was, Sansa Stark knew a few secrets.

Ned Stark had been a journalist, and a damn good one, with Pulitzers to his name and the like.  He’d been editor in chief of the Chicago Tribune for a while, the youngest in the paper’s history in fact.  And Sansa had that same itch to dig for the truth, that same bloodhound nose for a story that he did.  She hoped to intern at the Tribune next summer, in fact.  But that might as well be next century, for all she cared right now.

Sansa Stark now knew that her mother had had at least one fairly important female lover in college.  Robb, Bran and Arya seemed primarily concerned with what that meant about their mother’s relationship with their father, and whether she had loved him or if their marriage had been some sort of “arrangement.”  But Sansa wasn’t so concerned with that.  She was old enough to remember how her parents had looked at one another, which was as if the other one had hung the moon in the sky, and also, unfortunately old enough to have been mildly emotionally scarred by walking in during some slightly noisy missionary-position sex one night when they’d left the door unlocked.

No, what Sansa Stark was concerned with was, simply put, that her mother had once loved women.  And at least in one case, blonde women.

The other secret Sansa Stark had wasn’t so much a secret as it was a bit of information that was unremarkable enough to most people that it simply wasn’t known around town because it didn’t merit the grapevine.  Everyone knew about the small thrift store down the block from Wildling’s.  They stocked clothes and furniture, appliances and books and records.  Everyone knew the profits went to the special needs school on the east end of town, and everyone knew that you could donate items for sale, or donate money and goods directly to the school at that location.  What everyone didn’t know was that the store belonged to the Lannister family, or more specifically, Cersei Lannister.

Tywin Lannister did the requisite amount of philanthropy in the area to keep the family name sufficiently burnished.  He was hardly free with the family trust and tended to choose strategically, financing large, high-profile things like financing the construction of a new wing for the local university’s museum so that the Lannister name could sit engraved on a bronze plate outside of it, or a new media center for the Westeros Public Library.  The Lannisters brought the Atlanta Symphony to the arts center at Faircastle Park.  That sort of thing.  But this was something different.

The Lannister name wasn’t engraved on a bronze plate on the outside.  The shop wasn’t fancy or high profile.  It was just a thing that, for reasons still unknown to Sansa, Cersei Lannister had decided she felt like doing, and there was no bragging about it in the papers, and there was no mention of the Lannister name anywhere in or on the shop.  

Sansa decided that this was absolutely almost as important a piece of information as her mother’s newly discovered romantic history.  And this was why she needed Rickon’s old chest of dress-up clothes.  She felt that it would a be suitable donation for the school and a good excuse to talk to the shop and try to find out more about Cersei’s involvement in it.  

Love was in the air lately, for seemingly everyone else if not for her, and she felt determined to continue spreading it around.  With any luck, she figured, perhaps some of it would accidentally rub off on her.

  
  
  


***************

  
  


It was a Monday afternoon.  Catelyn had survived her first rehearsal with Cersei post-truce.  She had plans to get together outside of rehearsal to run through the songs with Bronn, the oily fencing instructor from the local YMCA, and her Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside.  She didn’t mind him so much, and in fact he had a world weariness underneath his sleazy charm that she almost found she could relate to.  But she was glad enough when it was time to go home to meet Selyse Florent for coffee.  

She’d met Selyse because her daughter Shireen Baratheon was in the same class with Rickon at school, and the two little ones had immediately bonded.  Rickon’s wildness clearly made Selyse a bit nervous at first.  Catelyn remembered their first playdate, how she’d practically had to drag Selyse away from the doorway of the playroom, coaxing her with a steaming cup of hazelnut coffee.  Rickon had asked about the red marks on Shireen’s face, burn marks from an accident she’d had as a toddler that never quite went away, and she’d watched the hackles on the back of Selyse’s neck go up.  But Rickon had put red paint all over his hand and smooshed it against his face, announcing, “Look!  Now we’re twins!”

Selyse had looked like she was going to cry.  Catelyn understood.  She knew all too well what it was to have a kid who was different, and see them bond with someone who couldn’t begin to give a damn about that difference.  She put her hand on Selyse’s shoulder and said, “See?  They’re fine.  Let’s go sit in the sunroom and drink.”  Selyse, recently divorced from her husband, the mayor, needed a friend about as badly as anyone Catelyn had ever seen.

Today Catelyn was wrestling with the slow drain in the kitchen while the coffee brewed.  It was still flowing, sort of, but it seemed like every other day she had to go mano a mano with it, sending the pointy end of the little sink snake down it and hoping it would do some good.  Sometimes it did, sometimes it didn’t.  

“Good lord, Catelyn,” Selyse pleaded, “please stop messing with that and sit down!  I came here to visit with you, not to watch you fight with your damn drain again.”

Catelyn wiped her hands on her jeans and apologized.  “Sorry, Selyse, I swear this sink will be the end of me.”  She sat down and poured some cream into her coffee.  Selyse was already halfway into her own cup.  

“So, you’re going to be playing Mame, isn’t that right?”

Catelyn nodded.  “Yes.  And I’m playing alongside that creepy Bronn fella from the YMCA,  _ and _ none other than Cersei Lannister.”  

Selyse and Cersei had been in-laws twice removed, so to speak.  She’d been married to Stannis for fifteen years, and Cersei had been married to his brother Robert before he'd died in that hunting accident.  She’d had plenty of opportunities to exchange monosyllabic expressions of arrogance with her at family functions.  Cersei followed southern etiquette of killing people you didn’t like with kindness when it suited her, but there’d been plenty of times over the years when she couldn’t be bothered.  Every now and again, though, when the stars aligned correctly, Selyse found that she didn’t mind standing in a corner with Cersei, throwing shade at someone they mutually disdained.  

“Oh, Cat,” Selyse objected.  “You don’t think Bronn’s a little bit handsome?”

Catelyn frowned.  “I suppose he is.  He’s not all bad, I suppose, but don’t you find him just a little...?”  She trailed off, not quite sure what the word was that she was looking for, but she gave a little instinctive shiver.

Selyse chuckled.  “Well, now, Catelyn, I’m not saying I’d date him, mind you.”  She left the fact that she may have fantasized about snogging him at some point hanging out there as an unspoken, because Selyse was not the type to discuss those sorts of things.

Catelyn smirked, fully absorbing her meaning.  “Speaking of that, have you met anyone?” she asked, anxious to change the subject.  She never could sort out how come Stannis and Selyse couldn’t make it work.  They both sure had heads full of brains, and the same serious, wrapped-slightly-too-tight disposition.

Selyse shook her head.  “Not really.  Pickings are slim unless I want to hook myself up with one of the grey ponytails over at the university,” she retorted, her moue of annoyed disdain making it clear enough how she felt about that notion.  “You?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “Love seems to be in the air, though.  All my kids are pairing off.  I thought it was supposed to happen in springtime.”

Selyse shrugged.  “Well, you know Rickon and Shireen are already discussing their wedding plans for after college.”

Catelyn smiled.  “Good for them.  I’m just too busy to meet anyone, I guess.”

Selyse drained her coffee cup.  “Maybe you just haven’t met the right leggy blonde yet.”

Catelyn looked sharply at her over the rim of her cup.  “I beg your pardon?”

Selyse shrugged.  “Figure of speech.”

Catelyn knitted her eyebrows together, but let it go.

  
  
  


******

  
  


Sansa continued her research into the mystery woman in the pictures.  Her mother had gone to UC Berkley for undergrad and so she started poking through online archives, class lists, anything she could find for that year.  She sifted through the box again and found one or two photos she’d missed the first time, and mercifully, one of them had written on the back of it, “Cat & Gail, Golden Gate Park.”  So the blonde had a name now.  Gail.  That would help.

She went back into the attic and dug around until she found her mother’s yearbook.  She chuckled a little at the thought that that was how people had to keep track of each other back then.  It hadn’t occurred to her that there was a world before Facebook.  But she found it, covered in dust, and after coughing and sneezing while she cleaned it off with a damp paper towel, she flipped through it.

On classmates.com, she found that there must have been a fire sale on the name Gail the year her mother was born because there were no less than four Gails in her mother’s class.  She went backwards alphabetically, looking up each one to see if she could match any of them to the blonde in the photos.  Wismer… nope.  Brunette, and no resemblance anyhow.  Randall… nope.  Huge schnoz.  Fong…. Definitely nope.  Chinese.  Abernathy….

That was it.  There she was.  Gail Abernathy.  She had a name.  A head full of long, lovely blonde curls, a dazzling smile, and a name.

She started flipping through the pages of all the different student clubs to see if she could find her.  She spotted her mother in the surf club and the Young Democrats.  She waded through page after page, sneezing occasionally and wishing this was all online and searchable instead of having to paw through these dusty pages.  She only found one club that Gail Abernathy belonged to.  An all female a capella group, the Minstrel Cycles.  Despite the unfortunate name, Sansa had a realization.  

Her mother liked leggy blondes.  Furthermore, she liked leggy blondes who could sing.  The dots really kind of connected themselves, as far as she was concerned. 

She discussed it first with Bran.  Bran thought she was out of her mind.  “How do you know Ms. Lannister is even… you know… like that?”

Sansa snorted.  “You’re allowed to say ‘gay’, Bran.  We’re not in Alabama, for heaven’s sake.”

Bran shrugged.  “I dunno, I feel like I can’t keep track of what the word is that we’re supposed to use now.  Anyway, how do you even know she’s gay or whatever?”

Sansa shrugged.  “Well, I have to do some more digging.  But let’s say she is.  What do you think?”

Bran nodded.  “Well, I think you’re out of your mind.  And even if she was, which I  _ doubt _ , I’m not sure how I’d feel about mom dating the mom of the guy who was bullying you.”

Sansa took his point.

Her next stop was Arya.

She began the conversation with, “So, how’s Joffrey doing in karate class?”

Arya looked at her strangely.  “Well, I think he hates me but he’s not giving me a hard time.  I think he’s a little scared of me, actually.”

Sansa nodded.  “But… I mean … do you guys ever talk about me?”

Arya groaned.  “Please don’t tell me you like him after the way he acted.”

Sansa shook her head.  “No no, it’s not that.  I was just wondering if he … I mean, he hasn’t been bothering me since he started karate, so I wondered.  If he felt bad about it or anything.”

Arya tried not to burst out laughing.  “I have no idea, San.  Most of the time I spend with him in class is just making him do drills until his arms hurt so bad he looks like he wants to cry.”

“Well, I want you to find out, okay?”

Arya regarded her coolly for a moment.  “Why?” she finally asked.

Sansa debated telling her sister the entire plan, but decided she had to.  “I think Mom and Ms. Lannister might actually make a good couple but I don’t want to push the idea unless I can be sure that Joffrey isn’t gonna be bothering me anymore.”

Arya clutched at her head.  “San, this is the craziest idea you’ve ever come up with!  Cersei Lannister is not a lesbian!”

Sansa put her hands on her hips.  “How do you know?  Until last week, we didn’t know Mom used to be a lesbian or whatever either.”   She peered at Arya.  “And by the way, Snow told me about the girl at the theater.”

“I like her, that doesn’t mean I’m a lesbian!”  Arya protested.

“Well so what if you are?”

Arya was starting to get mad.  “Stop trying to pin a label on me, okay?  I’m just figuring it out.”

Sansa smiled triumphantly.  “Well, how do you know Cersei Lannister doesn’t have things to figure out?”

Arya halted.  Whatever snide comment she had at the ready melted in her mouth.  “I… I don’t know.  I guess I figure adults kind of have that stuff all worked out.”

Sansa thumbed in the general direction of the front of the house.  “Yeah, well.  There’s a whole part of Mom that we didn’t know until now.  I think it’s worth finding out more.”

Arya was skeptical.  “Why are you so hung up on Joffrey’s mom anyway?”

Sansa sighed.  “I don’t know.”

“It’s the shoes,” came Snow’s voice from the doorway.  They had just come from a shift at the animal shelter and wore sneakers and jeans and a bulky flannel.  “And the purses.”  They paused, looking down at their phone with a little grin that meant they were probably reading a text from that girl they’d met at the hardware store.

“It’s not just that!”  Sansa objected.  “What kind of shallow idiot do you two think I am?”

“The kind of shallow idiot that likes Kate Spade bags and Louboutins?”  Arya chimed in.

“Look,” Sansa argued, ignoring the dig.  “Mom never gets to meet anyone because she’s busy running the shop and doing stuff for us.  But now she’s doing the show.  She’s going to have to spend time with Ms. Lannister anyway.  Why not make it … an opportunity?”

Arya shook her head.  “I think we should go to Robb before you do anything stupid,” she decided.

“Yeah,” Snow agreed.  “I don’t know what you have in mind, San, but I think Robb’s our next stop.”

  
  
  


****************

  
  


“You’re high on crack,”  Robb said.  

“That’s what I told her,” Arya volunteered.

“I don’t know,”  Talisa mused, “it makes sense, in a way.  They both lost a husband, they’re both struggling with taking care of big families, and they’re both into musical theater.  I’ve seen relationships that were based on less.  The only question mark is whether Ms. Lannister is…”

“Don’t say ‘ _ like that _ ’,” Sansa interrupted her.  “Just say gay.”

Talisa shrugged.  “Whatever.  Anyway, that’s a question that needs to be answered or no matter what you guys do, it won’t matter.  Do we have any way of finding out more?”

Sansa didn’t want to reveal her donation gambit yet.  She hadn’t quite worked it out in her head. 

“Sure, I’ll just ask Joffrey in karate class,” Arya snorted.  “Hey Joffrey, is your mom a lesbian?  And then I’ll pound him into the mat when he tries to punch me.”

Robb frowned at her.  “Well look… doesn’t she have any friends?”

“Nobody seems to like her except Nymeria,”  Arya joked, remembering that weird evening when Cersei rolled up to the theater and Nym was absolutely insistent on playing ball with her.  But then she remembered how familiar Cersei and Oberyn had seemed at the rehearsal she was at.  “Well, actually, Oberyn Martell seems to know her,” Arya said thoughtfully.  “He’s the musical director on the show and he was acting like they go back a ways.  Maybe I should talk to him.”

Robb shook his head.  “I think I should do it.”

Arya looked at him incredulously.  “What?”

“I think I should, you know, have a man to man with him.”

Arya looked ready to smack him.  “That’s so sexist!  Are you serious?”  

Robb put a hand on her shoulder.  “I don’t mean it like that.  I’m just older than you, Arya, he might be more likely to treat me seriously, like someone he could tell adult stuff to.  I mean, you’re smart as a whip, but you’re still fourteen.”

“Suit yourself,” she pouted.

  
  
  


********************************

  
  


So, Sansa schemed.

Snow texted back and forth with the cute redhaired girl from the hardware store.

Bran sent pictures of his vinyl collection to the girl from the record store, which was better than porn as far as she was concerned.

Cersei paced the floors of her house, wondering where Joffrey was tonight and angrily wondering why she was obsessed with Captain Carter and whether she was down at the L&L tonight, flirting with that waitress.

Arya read the soundboard manual and tried to make sense of it, and crammed in reading some Sun Tzu so she could keep up with Dany when they rapped up in the booth.

Catelyn resisted fretting about Selyse’s odd comment and studied her lines, and counted the weeks till opening night.


	15. Strategic Meddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark kids begin to vet Cersei.

The next week managed to somehow simultaneously creep by and whiz past.  Catelyn spent her days at the Trout, keeping the folks in the middle of town adequately sugared and hydrated with chocolate chip hazelnut cookies and the Trout’s special pink lemonade.  She ran kids to and from activities, and ran lines one night at Cersei’s house.  Myrcella was a competent pianist, she knew, and cheerfully offered to accompany them if they needed to do a vocal rehearsal at some point.  Tommen was shy and polite and mainly spent his time doing homework in the kitchen and then watching wrestling in the den.  As she was preparing to leave, Joffrey skulked in and muttered something inaudible when Cersei demanded to know where he’d been.  Through the lace-curtained front windows, Catelyn spied Ramsey Bolton’s shiny black pickup truck rolling away.  A twinge of empathy tugged at her as Joffrey slumped upstairs, went into his room and a moment later, began bombarding the floorboards with the heavy bass of a Wu-Tang Clan album.  She didn’t know how much of the mess was of Cersei’s own making, but she couldn’t imagine having to deal with a temperament like that on any of her own kids.

Cersei caught the look on her face though, and bristled.  “I suppose you have opinions about that,” she challenged.

Catelyn shook her head.  “We’ve all got challenges.  Mine are different ones, that’s all.”

Cersei paused, and Catelyn watched a thousand snide remarks flicker behind those green eyes like the Terminator scrolling through possible responses before settling on a terse, uncomfortable, “That’s right.”  

Catelyn wouldn’t learn till later that Cersei was actually seething with resentment at her in that moment for how well-behaved and polite the Stark kids were, and how gracious Catelyn had chosen to be about Joffrey’s behavior.   
  
  


********

  
  


Robb had been careful with his money this week.  He and Talisa had plans to go to dinner at Boca Bistro in an effort to chat up Oberyn, and he wanted to make sure he had enough cash.  He knew a dinner for two there was probably going to run him seventy-five dollars by the time it was all said and done, which was a lot of money for a high school senior with a part-time job.

Talisa tweaked him as they sat in the moody circle of candlelight.  “So this is what it takes to get you to take me out to Boca Bistro?  We have to be snooping on Cersei Lannister so we can hook her up with your mother?”

He furrowed his brow at her, but she was grinning like a cheshire cat.  Such busybodying was par for the course in her own family.  “I’m not complaining,” she assured him.  “I’m just wondering if we’ll need to snoop again in a week or two when we can afford to come back again.”

Robb chuckled a little and relaxed in his seat.  They were underage, of course, so they couldn’t order wine, but their waitress, Oberyn’s daughter Obara, had sold them on some sparkling water and they sat sipping it while they waited for their food.  When their plates arrived, their jaws nearly hit the floor.  They’d ordered some bread and olives, paella, grilled shrimp, rice croquettes with manchego cheese inside, and potato puffs with basil butter and parmesan.  It all looked great on the menu but it looked and smelled twice as good as they’d been expecting.

“I’ll bet this is really good with white wine,” Talisa mumbled around a mouthful of saffrony paella.  

“Too bad I can’t give you any,” Oberyn said as he sauntered up to the table.  

“We know, we know,” Robb answered with a smile.

“So what’s the special occasion?”  Oberyn asked.  

“Does a guy need a special occasion to take his girlfriend out for a nice dinner?” Robb asked with mock indignance.  


Oberyn nodded.  “True enough,” he agreed.  

They chatted for a few moments while Talisa kept him engaged asking him about the spices in the different dishes.  There was, as it turned out, a fair bit of crossover between Oberyn’s Spanish/fusion tapas recipes and Talisa’s family’s own cooking.

“Say, you’re the musical director on the show,” Robb said as if he had just remembered it.  “How are the rehearsals going?”

Oberyn gestured broadly.  “They are… going.”  His eyes twinkled.  “You mother’s doing fine, if that’s what you were wondering.”

Robb smiled.  “Yeah, that too.  How about Ms. Lannister?”

Oberyn tilted his head and looked at Robb with mild curiosity.  “She’s doing fine.  She and your mother will be wonderful together if they can learn their parts and…”  He broke off.

“And not kill each other?”  Robb interjected.   _ Yeah, Oberyn, _ his smirk said,  _ I know about the feud.  You can tell me grown-up stuff. _

Oberyn nodded, laughing silently.  “Yes, and not kill each other.  But…”  He held up his hands, both of which had fingers crossed.  “So far, so good.”

“You know Ms. Lannister pretty well, don’t you?”  Robb pursued.  

Oberyn nodded.  “Since prep school, yes.”

“What’s she like to work with?”

Oberyn looked at him strangely.  “You writing a biography?  She’s not hard to work with, once you figure her out.”

Talisa sighed under her breath.  Robb didn’t know how to do this small-town gossipy fishing-for-information thing.  But she did.  “Well, I bet the show’s been real good for her, something to keep busy with, on account of how she lost her husband, just like Mrs. Stark did.”

Oberyn nodded.  

“I mean … The late Mayor Baratheon was quite a man, I’ve heard,” Talisa pursued.

“He was,”  Oberyn agreed.

“Can’t imagine how she could find another  _ man _ to fill his shoes.”  The emphasis on “man” was just gentle enough to go unnoticed if there was nothing to talk about.  But it was just enough that a seasoned gossip like Oberyn picked it up.

Oberyn hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, smiling faintly.  “Yes, I don’t think she’s even looking for another  _ man _ right now.”

Talisa shook her head sympathetically.  “Poor thing.  I can’t imagine how hard it must be.”

Oberyn nodded.  “Well, she’s a tough cookie.  She doesn’t need a  _ man _ to be happy.”

Talisa grinned broadly and patted Oberyn’s forearm.  “Oh gosh, Oberyn, look at me keeping you with my chit-chat when you’ve got customers besides us to see to.”

Oberyn gave a playful little bow and slid away to attend to another couple at a table nearby who were tucking into some smoked chicken quesadillas.  

Robb looked at her with confusion.  “What the hell was that?”

Talisa sighed, pleased with herself.  “Cersei Lannister,” she said quietly, “is absolutely, one million percent a lesbian.”

Robb shook his head.  “How the hell do you know that?”

She patted his hand.  “Oh, grasshoppa, I’ll explain after we leave.”

  
  


*******

  
  


Sansa, meanwhile, was more concerned with other things.  After all, she was looking at a war on multiple fronts when discussing this level of strategic meddling.   The existence of the thrift shop was of great significance to her.  She didn’t know why Cersei Lannister would do such a thing without leveraging it for the kind of public relations value that other Lannister family charitable activities provided.  She was almost more concerned with Cersei Lannister’s secret decency than her romantic preferences.  It didn’t matter one whit to Sansa if Cersei was available for a relationship with her mother if there wasn’t a kind person underneath all the chill and snap.  For reasons she couldn’t fully explain, Sansa was convinced that there was indeed something more to her.  Maybe it was just that she wanted there to be.

So, on the one afternoon when their schedules intersected, she got Snow to drive her over to the thrift shop with Rickon’s dressup box.  She didn’t explain that this was part of her own plan.  She had to make sure that Cersei Lannister was good enough for her mother.  

But Snow was curious about The Plan.  “How do you know Aunt Cat would even be interested in Ms. Lannister?”  they asked as they drove over to the shop.

“You saw her ex girlfriend.  Mom has a type, and Ms. Lannister totally fits it.  And besides, did you see how she was when she was baking those rage cookies?  She was all flushed and breathing funny.”

Snow chuckled, easing the family’s mini-van through downtown traffic.  “Did you consider that that could have been… you know… rage?”

Sansa snorted.  “Come on, you know her.  She usually gets sort of cold when she’s angry, until you really push her over the edge and then she snaps real bad and cuts somebody’s throat.”

Snow responded with a “Hm,” and nodded, without necessarily agreeing or disagreeing.  

Sansa knew it probably meant they thought she was nuts, but she didn’t care.  She pointed out the window at a modest little storefront at the end of the block they were moving down.  “There it is!” she exclaimed.  Snow pulled over and Sansa got out, grabbing the brightly painted plywood chest out of the back seat.  “I’ll be right back.”

A very short man with a well-groomed beard was on his way out as she was on her way in, and gallantly held the door for her.  Sansa had the passing thought that he looked like a Lannister, only smaller.  But it was chased away as she looked around, taking in the brightly-lit interior of the shop.  It was far bigger on the inside than it appeared from the street, and it contained literally everything she could think of from board games and furniture to cookware and action figures.  There was an entire wall of bookshelves at the back and a staircase that led to the second floor.  

She turned to the older woman behind the counter, who wore a nametag that said “Dorna,” and asked, “Where’s the staircase go?”

“Upstairs is the clothes,” Dorna answered.  She peered over her squarish spectacles at Sansa.  “You a Tully, young lady?”

Sansa smiled shyly. “My mother is.  Er, was.  I’m a Stark.”

Dorna made some little noise in her throat that was impossible to interpret.  “What have you got there, Starkling?”

Sansa set the box on the countertop.  She was sure she recognized this woman, had seen her at some public events as part of the little knot of Lannisters and their seemingly endless font of cousins.  “Well, I wasn’t sure if it would be more suitable as a donation for the store or for the school directly, as-is…”  She flipped the lid open and revealed inside a number of inexpensive but sturdy enough Halloween costumes: a cowboy, an astronaut, Charlie Brown, a clown, a fireman and a king, complete with large, puffy crown.

“Royalty,” Dorna harumphed, turning it over in her hand and dropping it back in the box.  “Well that’ll suit Cersei’s boy, he thinks he’s a king.  Typical Lannister.”

Sansa’s brow furrowed.  Tommen was a sweet kid, so she could only mean Joffrey.  “But aren’t you a Lannister?”

Dorna chuckled and closed the box.  “My husband is.  Or rather, was.  But make no mistake, I’m a Swyft, through and through.”

Sansa smiled politely.  She hadn’t been here long enough to know who the Swyfts were or what that really meant, but she took it to mean Dorna didn’t care much for her in-laws.  “So… what do you think?  About the box?  Can you sell it all here, or do you think it’d be a better donation for the school to use?”

Dorna hemmed and hawed for a moment and then decided, “I’ll call the school tomorrow morning and see.  But you can leave it with me for sure.  Would you like a receipt for your tax write-off?”

Sansa didn’t understand.

“Your mama can write this off on her taxes if I give you a receipt for it,” Dorna explained.

Sansa still didn’t really understand but figured it sounded useful, so she took Dorna’s receipt.  “If you don’t like your in-laws so much, how come you work at the store?” she asked as Dorna began writing up the receipt.

“Well, you know…” she sighed.  “It’s a decent thing.  Cersei’s brother was born with all sorts of disabilities and defects…”

“Captain Lannister?” Sansa asked with disbelief.  She’d seen him knocking about town the last few weeks, handsome and charming, and had noticed that good-looking brunette he was with, too.  

“No, no, not Jaime,”  Dorna wheezed, laughing.  “Tyrion.  He was actually walking out of here just as you walked in.  He held the door for you.”

“Oh.”  Sansa had briefly registered him.  “He seemed fine to me.”

“Well, he is, now.  It took lots of therapies and whatnot when he was a little one though.  What with the torticollis, the speech problems, they even thought he was autistic or something at one point…”

Sansa seized on it.  “So that’s why Ms. Lannister started the store?  Because of her brother?”

Dorna nodded.  “Near as I could ever tell.  I like him, he’s a nice little fella.  Smart as a whip too.”  She handed Sansa the pink slip of paper, which was marked with some notations indicating her donation was equivalent to one hundred dollars.  “Here you are, sugar.  Don’t lose it.”

Sansa nodded, thanked Dorna, and left, clutching the pink receipt.  She got into the car, where Snow was sitting double-parked, texting with Ygritte.  They looked up.  “So?”

“So... Cersei Lannister is capable of decency and empathy.”

Snow looked confused.  “What does that have to do with Rickon's dress-up box?”

Sansa patted their hand.  “Stop talking to your girlfriend for five seconds and I’ll explain.”


	16. Ladies Who Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oberyn nudges Catelyn into inviting Cersei out to lunch.

Asha picked her head up from her desk.  “For fuck’s sake, Oberyn, are you trying to destroy my show?  Absolutely not.”

Oberyn grinned.  “Asha.  Have I ever destroyed a show?”

She crossed her arms.  “I do love how you conveniently forget My Fair Lady.”

Oberyn plopped down backwards in the chair, facing her.  “The show went on.”

“Oh, it bloody well did.  With Loras Tyrell in drag as Eliza Doolittle.”  She scowled at him.  “I’d rather you ran to the balcony and shouted the name of the Scottish play in my theater over and over again than start this nonsense.”

Asha was the old-school superstitious theater type who would literally go into convulsions if anyone mentioned Macbeth within these walls.

He hesitated.  “It may be too late.”

She rolled her eyes.  “What have you done?”

He stood.  “Why don’t you let me and Renly show you the choreography for Bosom Buddies?”

She put her head down on the desk.  “For fuck’s sake,” she groaned again.

“If she’s taken my suggestions seriously, Catelyn should be asking Cersei to go out for lunch right about now.”

Asha banged her forehead gently against the top of the desk.  “You bastard!! Why, why, why?”

“Our leading ladies need to get along,” he answered with a grin.

“I told you to make peace, Oberyn, not get them shagging.”

He shrugged.  “It’s not mutually exclusive.”

  
  
  


*******

  
  


Cersei sat at her desk, refreshing the ink on her “REJECTED” stamp.  A stack of loan applications sat in front of her and she already knew which of them would be processed and which would be denied.  She particularly enjoyed putting that big red stamp on Walder Frey’s applications to float the week’s expenses for his hardware store.  She was secretly a bit handier than most people knew, but she preferred to go to Wildling’s for what she needed, despite it being across town.  She wouldn’t go out of her way to sink Frey, but every now and then she’d reject his initial application and smirk to herself, knowing she was going to get that phone call from him: angry, yet at the same time, trying to plead his case and be ingratiating, something he was fantastically poor at.  In the end, she’d wave him through because his businesses managed to squeak in on the right side of solvency, but she enjoyed letting him twist in the wind a little first.

God knew the loan office offered few thrills apart from that.

Today, however, she seemed to find the little dopamine hit she got from torturing Walder Frey… lacking somehow.  The incessant clack of Taena’s long fingernails on her keyboard as she typed, the honk and rumble of street traffic, the loud breathing of the ventilation system, they came together to form an irritating cacophony that chafed at the edges of her nerves, and not even the thought of her malicious toying with Frey could soothe them.

She looked up from her desk, staring into space for a moment, when she saw the front door open and spied, through the glass walls of her office, an unexpected sight:  Catelyn Stark, in jeans and a green sleeveless blouse, wandering through the front door as though lost in the woods.

In a sense, she was:  Catelyn had opened The Silver Trout with money left to her in trust by her father, Hoster.  She’d never needed to take a loan to open it, or float her expenses, assuming she ever needed to do that.  Maybe she didn’t.  It was always busy.  In any case, regardless of the reasons, Catelyn Tully Stark had never had reason to set foot inside Lannister Bank & Loan until now.

Her phone beeped.  Taena addressed her from out front:  “Ms. Lannister, Mrs. Stark is here to see you.”

Cersei rolled her eyes.  “Taena, I sit in a fishbowl.  I can see that.  Send her in.”   _ What on earth could she want? _

Catelyn came into Cersei’s office and hovered in the door, seeming unsure of whether she should come all the way in and sit down.  “Cersei,” she greeted her with a nervous smile.

Cersei tried to achieve an expression that landed on the pleasant side of neutral.  “Catelyn.”  She tilted her head, trying to get a fix on what her visitor’s demeanor was projecting, exactly.  “Haven’t come to drop off more baked goods, have you?”

Catelyn chuckled a little and shook her head.  “No, don’t worry.  Our truce on that is holding.”  She glanced around, looking like she was wondering whether this was a mistake.  “No, I just wondered… if you’d had lunch yet, actually.”

Cersei shook her head.  “No, I haven’t why?”  Clearly, Catelyn was asking her to lunch.  Why?  Didn’t matter.  Cersei let her twist in the wind for a moment more.  It was giving her a little thrill in the gut like the one she should have been getting from rejecting Walder Frey’s application.

Catelyn shifted uncomfortably.  “Well, I wondered if you might like to grab a bite over at White Harbor?”  Her voice shifted upward into a question.  “I’m a real sucker for that grilled swordfish sandwich with the wasabi mayo.”  She paused, looking faintly pained.

Cersei sighed and decided she’d had enough of tormenting her, and that actually, lunch at White Harbor sounded like a nice change of pace.  She never got over there.  She never got anywhere for lunch.  She usually stayed at her desk, wallowing in some unfocused, low-level seething.   Suddenly the phones and the traffic and the air conditioner roaring seemed to dissolve away, and the thought of walking down Main in the warm, bright afternoon sounded fantastic, even if it was with Catelyn Stark.  She nodded slowly.  “Alright,” she relented after a moment.  She stood up, grabbed her purse, and ushered Catelyn out of the office.

“Who’s watching the Trout?” she asked.

Catelyn smiled.  “Jorelle Mormont.  She helps me three days a week when my kids are in school.”

“Thought she’d left town by now?”

“No, she’s taking classes at the university and needed a part time thing.  You know Maege, she’s not the type to foot her daughters’ bills for everything, even if she has the money.”

Cersei nodded in agreement.

Catelyn, who was wearing some very unassuming black ballet flats, glanced at Cersei’s four-inch heels as they made their way down the sidewalk.  “I don’t know how you can walk in those.”

“I’m used to them,” Cersei dismissed her with a wave.  “Surely you must wear heels sometimes?  For your wedding, at least?”

Catelyn laughed.   “I did,” she admitted, “and I almost fell on my face walking down the aisle.  Thank god my daddy was there to hold me up or …”  She shook her head, not wanting to contemplate the possibilities.  “Anyhow, I changed into flats as soon as I got to the reception.”

Cersei half-smiled.  Catelyn Stark was less than perfect after all.  Cersei was still scanning her face, trying to read her intentions.  This was something more than truce.  She couldn’t quite work out the truth of why she’d taken such a risk.  She was convinced there was something to be found in the creases at the corners of Catelyn’s eyes, in the little curl of her lip, when she smiled at the shameful admission of wearing flats to her own wedding.  She was so absorbed in looking for it that she stopped noticing the traffic, the barking of the dogs in the dog run at the park down the street, stopped noticing the sidewalk in front of her and, much to her dismay, didn’t see the little terrier come darting out in front of her, winding its leash around her calves as it tried to escape its owner.  She pitched forward.

It wouldn’t be the first spill she’d taken in her life, she thought ruefully, as the world changed to slow motion and she felt her momentum shift from forward to downward.  But it  _ would _ have to be while walking with Catelyn Stark.  After just having boasted about being used to walking in four-inch heels.

After a split second, though, she realized that she was in fact, not on the pavement.  Catelyn had caught her by the arm and stopped her descent.  The terrier’s owner was apologizing profusely.  Cersei scowled at him, was aware of Catelyn’s warm hands steadying her, then releasing their hold.  Catelyn’s blue-green eyes, looking at her with concern.  “You alright, Cersei?”

Cersei righted herself, smoothed her skirt.  “Fine, I’m sure.”  She tossed her hair and resumed walking.  Catelyn fell into stride beside her.  Cersei glanced over at her.  “Thank you,” she added.  She rarely said those words.  Hated saying them to Catelyn Stark.  But it’d be rude not to, after all.

Rude.

  
  


*******

  
  


Catelyn and Cersei sat in the shade under an aqua-colored umbrella at a plastic table in front of the White Harbor Seafood Shack.  She was uncomfortable, Cersei was stiff and taciturn, and Catelyn looked as if she was seriously questioning this idea.  Wylla Manderly came out, glancing between them with a mildly surprised look, ran down the specials, sold them on the sweet tea and a couple of the grilled swordfish sandwiches that Catelyn was so keen on, and then disappeared with their order.

“What the hell’s the matter with that girl?” grumbled under breath.  “It’s like she’s never seen two women having lunch together before.”

“Well, maybe she was just surprised to see you,” Catelyn offered.  “You said yourself you don’t get over here much.”

Cersei snorted.  “I think her Uncle Wendell’s working crew on the show. He was probably there for the… unpleasantness.  You know how people talk.”

“Indeed,” Catelyn agreed tartly.  The “unpleasantness” was how they’d taken to referring to the incident at the rehearsal that precipitated their uneasy truce.  If Wendell had run his mouth to Wylla, it was no wonder she was surprised to see them lunching together.

“Speaking of that–” Cersei began.

But Catelyn interrupted her.  “No, let’s not dwell on that, it’s water under the bridge.”

Cersei shook her head.  “I wasn’t...I just wondered…”  She thought back to how livid Catelyn had gotten over that cake, how hurt she had seemed by it.  “Do you actually miss Ned?”

Catelyn peered at Cersei, as though baffled by the question.  “Of course.  It hurts less than it did when it happened, but...  Don’t you miss Robert?”

Cersei hesitated.  “I miss having him around to smack Joffrey into line,” she allowed.

“That’s not the same as missing  _ him _ ,” Catelyn mused.

Cersei’s face clouded.  “I don’t miss Robert.  That’s why I went back to Lannister as soon as decency would allow.”  She looked at Catelyn, suddenly regretting this line of conversation.  “But you kept Stark, didn’t you.”

Catelyn shrugged.  “Until I have a good reason to change it, yes.  Ned was my best friend.”  Her look softened a little as she realized that that wasn’t the case for Cersei.  “I’m so sorry, Cersei, I don’t mean to rub salt–”

Cersei waved an imperious hand, interrupting Catelyn.  “No no, everyone in Westeros knows Robert was a womanizing son of a bitch who married me for just about every reason except  _ me _ .”  

Catelyn placed a warm hand over Cersei’s for a moment.  “I’m sorry,” she said with sincerity.   _ Why is she touching me? _ Cersei wondered, but didn’t recoil, despite some part of her wanting to.  The noise of the birds and the fryers and the other conversations receded and she was suspended in that moment, that quiet.  And then Catelyn pulled her hand away, sensing perhaps she’d overstepped.

Wylla came a moment later with their drinks.  

They ate lunch in the sunshine.  They spoke little, with long pauses in between exchanges that felt awkward, though somehow not as awkward as they seemed like they should.  They made small talk about the show, set a time to run lines again.  They talked briefly about Arya and Joffrey being in karate together and Cersei volunteered that Joffrey didn’t tell her anything, but it seemed to be going alright.  Catelyn supplied that actually, Arya hadn’t talked much about it either.  They both agreed to make mental notes to inquire of their children.  They dickered briefly about who was going to pick up the check and Cersei felt obliged somehow but Catelyn insisted that since it was her invitation, she’d be the one to get it.  This time.

_ This time. _

And then it was over.  Catelyn walked her back to the loan office.  “Thanks for lunch,” she said, and after another awkward moment in which they weren’t quite sure how to end things, Cersei took Catelyn’s hand and shook it briefly, giving it a little squeeze before she let it go.  “Send me an email next time so we can plan ahead a little, alright?”

_ Next time? _

Catelyn nodded, and she walked away.  Cersei stood watching her for a moment.  When she’d gotten halfway down the block, she saw Catelyn cast a glance over her shoulder and Cersei quickly scurried inside.  

“Nice lunch?” Taena asked as she walked in.

Suddenly, Cersei was feeling strange and surly, and needed to be left alone for a while.  “It was fine, I guess.  Hold my calls for the rest of the afternoon, please.  I’m going to be busy.”

She frittered away the afternoon watching clips of Mame on youtube.


	17. What the Restaurateur Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oberyn continues to operate behind the scenes. We get our first glimpse of Tywin Lannister. We learn a bit about the long, strange history of Oberyn and Cersei's friendship.

Most waitstaff in town were scared of Tywin Lannister and he preferred it that way.  It kept them on their toes.  He did tip well, though, as sort of a courtesy for being terrifying.  A Lannister always paid their debts, after all.  Oberyn’s daughters were attentive and didn’t make mistakes, but they also didn’t seem afraid of him, and he didn’t know how to feel about that.  It distracted him.  He would have preferred to take this meeting on home court, the Italian bistro where they always held a table for him, kept a bottle of expensive Luce Toscana reserved for him, and were satisfyingly obsequious whenever he walked in the door unannounced, which was often.  But Olenna had insisted on this tapas business.  He focused his attention on her once again.

“I really do think you need to sell me the back forty acres of the farm,” he insisted with a cool little quirk of his lips.  That passed for a smile where Tywin Lannister was concerned.

Olenna gave a haughty little cluck.  “Really, Tywin.  What on earth could you possibly want with it?”

Tywin waved imperiously at a passing waitress (was it Tyene? Five daughters, he could never keep their names straight), who knew well enough to know that Mr. Lannister and his dining partner needed some more of the bread and olives.  

“What on earth do  _ you _ want it for, is the question?”  Tywin parried.  “I know you’re not growing anything on it and haven’t for years.”

Olenna smirked at him.  “But we might.”

“You know, I know what your granddaughter grows in those greenhouses.”

Olenna feigned innocence.  “Of course, Tywin, she grows African violets, Chinese Hibiscus, lilies…”  As if everyone in town didn’t know about Margaery’s top shelf marijuana plants.  Olenna had taught the girl everything there was to know about growing them, after all.

Tywin Lannister’s eyes narrowed.  He knew when he was being played with, and frankly, Olenna wasn’t even trying very hard.  

Tyene and Elia arrived with their dinner at this moment.  Tywin had, as a gentleman of their generation would, ordered for Olenna, quickly evaluating the menu to determine the best of what was to be had there.  Two dishes were set down before them, deep plates displaying steaming shanks of osso buco with sundried tomato polenta to soak up the savory sauce, the menu’s one and only nod to Ellaria’s Italian heritage.

“You know,” Olenna said, after a heavenly bite of veal, followed by a long sip of wine, “if you wanted to invite me out to dinner, you could have just asked me instead of cooking up all this nonsense about trying to buy the back acreage of the farm.”  She fixed him with a long, unbreaking stare.  

Tywin continued to peer at her through his narrowed eyes.  “More wine, Olenna?”

Oberyn made his way over to the table and greeted them both, inquiring as to their well-being and how they were enjoying their evening.

“You’re the one that dragged Cersei into doing that show,” Tywin realized, appraising Oberyn with a cold stare.

Oberyn smiled easily, Tywin’s frost glancing off him.  “I wouldn’t say dragged, Mr. Lannister.  It’s been a good thing for her.  She’s got quite a beautiful voice.”

“That’s all well and good,” Tywin replied, unmoved.  “But her family and work had best not be suffering at its expense or I plan to hold you personally responsible.”

Oberyn was relentless in his charm.  He’d been dealing with Tywin’s inexplicable dislike for years now.  It came as naturally to him as breathing.  “She’s on top of things, don’t worry.  And she’s making friends, too.”

Tywin was unimpressed.  “Theater rabble.  Wonderful.  You’d better be looking after her. I can’t be everywhere at once, Mr. Martell.”

Olenna rolled her eyes.  Tywin owned the damned theater, his disdain made almost no sense.  It was less about the theater, she suspected, and more about his general distrust of everyone and everything where his daughter was concerned.   _ You’d better be looking after her. _  That was clear enough as far as she was concerned.  To a less experienced eye, it was more of Tywin’s aristocratic haughtiness.  Olenna, being one of the few souls in town who remembered a time when Tywin Lannister was capable of actually smiling, knew that this his peculiar way of showing genuine concern for his daughter.  So, she intervened.  She laid a withered hand on Oberyn’s wrist.  “Now listen, Oberyn, don’t you worry about me, handsome.  I can handle myself with this two-legged glacier.”  She winked at him.

He smirked and bobbed his head slightly in reply.  “As you were, Mrs. Tyrell.”

As he walked away, Olenna swatted his ass.  Oberyn chuckled a little and kept walking.

Tywin was scandalized.  “ _ Mrs _ . Tyrell!”

“Oh, come off it, Tywin,” she replied tartly.  “What kind of fool would I be if I didn’t take advantage of the fact that little old ladies get away with whatever they damn well please?”

  
  
  
  


**********

  
  


Everyone speculated that Oberyn and Cersei had to have slept together at some point, probably college.  And Oberyn probably would have, if he'd had the chance.  But the truth was, she'd never allowed him to get that close.  

Oberyn wasn’t sure why, exactly, but Talisa had clearly been fishing to find out whether Cersei was a lesbian or not.  The truth was, Oberyn had nothing much, apart from very strong suspicions.  But a lot of elements over nearly thirty years of knowing her, when arranged in the right way, in the right light, and viewed from just the right angle, certainly painted a convincing enough picture.

There was the time when they were teenagers in prep school and he'd tried to kiss her and she let him, for a moment, until she'd stopped and looked at him and said, “Yuck,” and then hastily added, “I only like you as a friend, Oberyn.”  But apparently he was only one in a long line of very handsome boys that she passed on.  Maybe she was just choosy.  Maybe not.

There was her “tennis problem.”  She was a fearsome tennis player in prep school and college.  It was the only sport Tywin deemed sufficiently feminine to allow her to play, and it clearly became a vessel for a lot of displaced rage and alienation.  She became obsessed with certain rivals on other schools’ teams, and attended every match of theirs within a fifty mile radius.  In particular, that one tall redheaded girl from Wesleyan.  Scouting the competition?  Maybe.  She was fiercely competitive, after all.  But he’d always found the laser focus of her gaze a bit suspect.  Her eyes were locked on the girl, not just during volleys, but in between, when she was only wiping the sweat from her brow or bending down to check her shoelaces.

And then at Barden, she was in an all-female a capella group.  The campus had a few mixed-gender ones, but she ended up in the Bellas.  She was in the campus chapter of Young Feminists.  She had posters in her dorm room of Melissa Etheridge and Sophie B. Hawkins.  Again, taken by themselves, each item meant very little.  The more you looked at the zeitgeist of it, though, the more it looked at least questionable.  He’d stopped by her dorm room one night with a couple of forty ounces and a blunt, figuring they’d get a little blasted and go watch Star Wars, which was showing on the big outdoor screen on the quad, and found her curled up in tears on her bed.  She wouldn’t tell him why.  But it almost seemed less like a “wouldn’t” and more like a “couldn’t.”

In junior year, he recalled the beginning of that run of self-destructive behavior.  That was when the heavy drinking started in earnest.  He found himself watching her get so hammered at frat parties that she could barely walk, and having to squire her home before some beefy fratboy named Chad got ideas about dragging her upstairs.  He didn't always succeed. The odd thing was, they weren’t even what he would have considered close, as she never really confided in him.  But he kept an eye on her when he could, and hoped she’d get better.  He and Jaime both worried about her, and on the few occasions when they discussed it, Jaime agreed that she was probably repressing something big.  Neither of them ever said “gay,” but what else could it be?

Jaime had been conflicted about her coming back to Westeros and marrying Robert.  He’d discussed it with Oberyn at the wedding.  The only upside, as far as they both could see, was that it would maybe mitigate the self destructive impulses she seemed only too ready to indulge.  And it had, somewhat, as far as it went.  


He knew he hadn’t been entirely honest with Renly and Loras.  He wasn’t simply trolling her and Catelyn by making them do a bit of close dancing.  He truly, in his heart, believed that if they could get past their difficulties, that they might actually be capable of falling in love with each other, and it was the healthiest thing they could do.

He picked up the phone.

“Who are you calling?” Ellaria asked him.

“Wylla Manderly.  I want to know how lunch went.”

“You can’t just ask them?” she demanded.  She didn’t understand Americans sometimes.

Oberyn chuckled.  “No, not with this.”  He thought of Cersei, all those years ago, in her dorm at Barden, curled up and sobbing for reasons that she couldn’t explain.  “It requires a delicate touch.”

  
  


*******

  
  


Rehearsals began in earnest, and Snow was enjoying learning to build things with the stage crew.  Power tools, they discovered, were a lot of fun.  And they often found excuses to run over to Wildling’s for something or other that Gendry needed, which was an enormous bonus.  “It’s only screws,” Gendry would say, “just go to Frey’s.”  But Snow  _ had _ to get the screws from Wildling’s.

Sansa conferred with Talisa and Robb and was gratified to learn that there was at least a pretty clear implication that Cersei was available for something with her mother.  She wasn’t sure how to proceed at this point, but was delighted to hear that the two of them had gone to lunch, at Oberyn’s urging.  “How was it?” she asked, trying to seem only a little interested.

“Oh, it was a little strange, I suppose,” her mother sighed after a moment.  “It was alright, though.  She’s not all bad, I guess.”

Sansa couldn’t restrain herself and blurted out what she knew about the thrift store.  Catelyn absorbed the information, replied with something non-committal, and they moved on.  Sansa knew that information would sit marinating in the bottom of Catelyn’s brain, just the way it had done in her own.  She knew its significance would not be lost.

Bran and Meera spent a lot of time in the used record store.  They loaned each other books, devoured them, returned them, and loaned each other some more.  Meera broke him of his addiction to Gothic literature and got him to read some Isabel Allende and Garcia Marquez.  Bran, in turn, opened her up to the charms of Mary Shelley and Horace Walpole.

As it turned out, Nymeria wasn’t the only dog running around the theater.  Dany had a dog as well, a gorgeous golden retriever named Drogon, after one of her D&D characters.  Drogon and Nym became fast friends and often curled up together in the booth while Arya and Dany were working.  Dany had been running lights in this theater for ages, since junior high, and Asha treated her like family.  Arya still didn’t know how old she was and couldn’t figure out a cool way to ask.

Arya was surprised when Catelyn asked about Joffrey in her karate class.  “Well, I’m his senpai, so I’m kind of training him.  To be honest, I’m riding him pretty hard.  He complains a lot, but he’s learning.  And he’s not rude to me or Sansa anymore, so that’s good, I guess.”

Catelyn and Cersei had lunch again.  Cersei seemed relieved to hear that Arya was cracking the whip on Joffrey, and that it seemed to be having some effect.  “It was a good idea that Captain Carter had,” she admitted.  

Then of course she had to explain who Captain Carter was.

“Oh,” Catelyn said, nodding vaguely, “I think I’ve seen her with him.   The good-looking brunette? I had the worst craving for french fries last week and I went by the L&L and they were there–”

“Captain Carter chatting up the waitress, I imagine,”  Cersei said with a little frown.

Catelyn didn’t really understand why she seemed so disapproving.  She couldn’t possibly have a problem with gay women, could she?  Well, she thought glumly, that’d be one bit of her history she’d just as well leave out of the conversation.

But nevertheless, they had lunch again.  And then again.  White Harbor became a regular destination.  It was becoming a little less awkward.  They began to talk about life after their husbands, and raising children alone, and how yes, it takes a village but at the end of the day, sometimes it’s just you, having to make difficult decisions that someone or other is going to judge you for.  

“Do you think,” Cersei asked her during what was, by Cat's count, their third lunch, “that you’ll ever find someone else?”

Catelyn sighed a long sigh.  “I don’t know.  I’d like to, I think.  I know Ned would want that.  I guess I just don’t have much energy or time for meeting someone.  Six kids.  A business.  You know.  It’s a miracle I’ve found time to do the play.”  She gave her gumbo a listless stir with the plastic spoon.  “What about you?”

Cersei shook her head and finished a mouthful of chowder before responding.  “It wasn’t worth it, being married to a man I didn’t love.  I don’t think I want to do that again.”

“Well, what if you met a man you did love?”

Cersei looked at her for a minute before responding.  “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Catelyn gave her a skeptical look.  “Surely you’re just being dramatic?”

Cersei’s look became stormy for a moment and Catelyn recognized that look of Cersei’s mind scrolling through a dozen responses before answering.  “I haven’t had a lot of luck, that’s all.”

Catelyn gave her a gentle look.  It was hard to believe, despite being known for her difficult personality, that a woman as beautiful as Cersei didn’t have suitors knocking down her door, and that there wouldn’t be at least one among them that she could connect with.  All the more reason why she needed a friend, Cat reckoned.  “There’s someone for everyone,” she promised her.  “Sometimes it’s just a matter of being willing to open yourself to it.”

Cersei scoffed at that but didn’t say anything more. 

Catelyn wanted to ask about the thrift shop, but felt that perhaps they’d prodded too much at personal things for today, so she obliged Cersei and talked about the show.  At the end of lunch, Cersei insisted on paying, despite having paid the last time.  

Was this the start of another round of one-upsmanship, another battle of escalating politeness?  Catelyn was getting better at reading Cersei, but she still wasn’t sure.  Catelyn refused multiple times but finally in the face of Cersei’s completely immovable will to do so, she relented, insisting that she at least be allowed to leave the tip.  Cersei accepted her terms.  Every detente a victory, she thought, no matter how small.  


Catelyn went back to the Trout feeling vaguely uneasy and sad.  Yet for some reason, she was already planning in her mind what they would talk about next time.  

_ Next time. _

“You both could use a friend,” Oberyn had said.  He wasn’t wrong.


	18. Most Poor Suckers Are Starving to Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rehearsal. An invitation.

Catelyn was rehearsing a scene with Jeyne Westerling, her Agnes Gooch. Asha listened and watched, looking underwhelmed, and finally cut in with, “Mame, you’ve got to be MAME.  Mame Bloody Dennis!  You’re meant to be utterly unpredictable.  Gooch is terrified that she’s going to have a few drinks too many and wake up in Paris without any socks on and covered in yellow paint!  I don’t believe you’d even make it to the Chunnel, love.  More–”  She waved her arms to demonstrate how much more.  “ _ –more _ , please.  Thanks.”

Catelyn frowned.  She knew she could handle it but it was still outside her comfort zone, just a bit.  But they tried again.

She primped her hair a bit, and gave an extravagant turn.  “Oh, Agnes! Here you've been taking my dictations for weeks and you haven't gotten the message of my book: live!”

Jeyne peered up at her through prop horn rims without any lenses, pantomiming Gooch’s bewilderment.  “Live?”

“Yes! Live!”  She gestured about with her left arm, trying to imagine the terrific racket of the bangles that would be hanging there.  “Life's a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!”

Asha got up.  “Mame, love,” she interrupted.  “That’s one of the signature lines of the play.  You need to sell it a bit more.”

“So… louder?”

“Not necessarily louder.  Just…”  Asha waved a hand.  “Better.”

Catelyn felt deflated by this vague direction.  She glanced up and noticed Cersei, watching them from stage left.  She wasn’t sure why, but she was suddenly reminded of their last lunch, in which Cersei had scoffed at the idea of finding someone to love.  She’d made it sound as if she’d never been in love at all.  Ned had had his flaws but Lord knew, they had been in love.  She was ambushed by  an unexpected wave of sympathy for Cersei.

“Life is a banquet,” she said to Gooch again, this time infusing it with a little less brashness and a little more pity.  “And most poor suckers are starving to death.”

Asha tilted her head, looking at her intently.  Cat was aware of Cersei looking at her, even more intently than Asha was, if that was possible.  “Interesting,” was all Asha said after a moment of considering it.  “It wasn’t what I had in mind, but I don’t hate it.”  She nodded for a moment, seeming a little surprised that her actress had given her something unexpected that she actually liked.  “Right.  Do it like that till I tell you different.”

Catelyn wandered offstage toward where Cersei stood, gazing curiously at her.  Asha was shouting for her Patrick and her Gloria Upson.  Catelyn smiled.  “Was it as bad as all that?” she inquired, half not wanting to know.

Cersei peered at her.  “Not at all.  I must admit actually … well, it was more Rosalind Russell than Lucille Ball, if you take my meaning.”

Catelyn rubbed the back of her neck, looking embarrassed.  “I don’t, actually.  I’m ashamed to say that I never did watch Rosalind Russell’s Auntie Mame.”

Cersei’s eyebrow shot up, the closest Catelyn had ever seen to a shocked look on her face.  “Surely you’ve seen Lucille Ball’s?” she demanded.

“Of course,” Cat answered.  “And I’ve seen bits of Angela Lansbury doing it as well.”

“Lucille Ball is dreadful,” Cersei pronounced in her usual unvarnished manner.  “Lansbury isn’t bad.  But for depth, you’re not going to do better than Rosalind Russell.  She feels much more human.  When she’s scrambling because things are falling apart, you feel for her.”

Catelyn wondered on what level Cersei felt for her.  

“You pulled out a sensitivity on that line, it reminded me of her.  Anyway, you really ought to watch it.  I can loan it to you, if you’d like.”

Cat smiled.  “Thank you, I’d really appreciate it.”

“Only thing is… I’ll have to dig it out of my attic.  You’ve still got something that can play VHS tapes, haven’t you?”

Catelyn laughed.  “I wish I did, I’ve got enough high school and college videos of my own to keep a blackmailer busy for a decade. It’d be a hoot to look at them one of these days.”

Cersei’s lips quirked a little at that.  “Well, I’ve still got one.  You can come over, maybe this weekend if you’d like, and we can watch it.  I imagine I ought to refresh myself on Bea Arthur’s Vera anyhow.”

“I think I like your Vera better,” Cat decided.  She nearly kicked herself.  She briefly worried whether that had sounded as flirtatious to Cersei as it had to her own ears.  She certainly didn’t intend it that way.  But it was true.  Cersei’s voice was low and smooth and musical in a way Bea Arthur’s wasn’t, and her cool archness gave Vera something different that Cat really did prefer.

Cersei waved a hand.  “Nonsense.”  But Cat was sure she saw something almost like a smirk for a half a moment.

They stood quietly, watching the remainder of the rehearsal that didn’t include them.  Catelyn was suddenly moved to inquire.  It had been rattling about in the back of her mind since Sansa mentioned it.  “I meant to ask you something the other day at lunch, and I forgot.”

“What’s that?”  Cersei stood watching Patrick and Gloria running their lines, her hands jammed into the pockets of her blazer.  The red one that she’d worn on the first audition.  It still looked infuriatingly good on her.

“Sansa told me that that lovely little thrift shop down at the end of Main belongs to you?”

Cersei shrugged.  “Yes.”

“That it’s a charity for the Castamere School for the Disabled?” she pursued.

Cersei seemed strangely uncomfortable.  “Yes.”

Cat was frustrated that she was so cagey about it.  “That’s a wonderful cause,” she pressed.  

Cersei gave her a mirthless little smile.  “My brother Tyrion was born with severe disabilities.”

Cat paused awkwardly.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cersei replied evenly.  “He’s fine now.  Because my father could afford the best help for him.  Not everyone has our resources.”

Cat smiled.  That was unexpectedly touching.  She didn’t understand why getting her to talk about it was like trying to yank a nickel from a Mormont, but she didn’t care.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.  I just thought it seemed like a lovely thing and wondered if there was anything I could do to help.”

Cersei shook her head.  “No.  I mean, if you have donations, you can bring them to the shop.”  And it was clear from her tone that she didn’t want to discuss it any further.

“Alright, alright.  If you really don’t want to talk about it.”   _ Don’t worry, your reputation as a frosty harridan is safe with me, _ Cat wanted to say.  

They watched the remainder of rehearsal and Asha gave everyone a few notes and announcements at the end.  

Arya meandered down from the booth with Nym, looking a little too flushed and happy about having been running sound.  Cat wondered if there was something going on up there, but didn’t ask.  Arya hadn’t talked to her directly about the pretty blonde girl, but she’d overheard bits and bobs from her other siblings, third hand from their phone conversations and such.  She figured for now, she’d wait for Arya to come to her directly, which she clearly wasn’t ready to do.

Snow materialized, kitted up for set building work, in steel toed boots and a baseball cap, with their curly black ponytail sticking out the back of it.  Their denim jacket was draped over one shoulder.  “Hi Aunt Cat, hi Ms. Lannister,” they said, greeting them both with a smile.  

“Hello, Snow,” Cersei replied cautiously.  Catelyn could already see the processing going on behind her eyes, the “mentally scrolling through a list of pronouns I hope I don’t have to use” look.  

“So,” Snow began without preamble, “it’s raining.  Aunt Cat, you’ve got an umbrella in the trunk, I can go get it for you.”

“How hard?”  Cat asked.

“Kind of a lot.  Not pouring real bad, but definitely coming down.”

Cat wrinkled up her nose.  “Oh well, I’m not wearing anything special, I’ll just make a run for it.”

Snow turned to Cersei.  “You have an umbrella, Ms. Lannister?”

Cersei shook her head.  “I don’t.  It wasn’t supposed to do this till later.”

“Tell me about it,” Snow agreed.  They doffed their denim jacket and offered it to Cersei.  “Here, why don’t you borrow this?  That blazer looks pretty primo, I’d hate for it to get wet.”

Cersei seemed completely blindsided by this.  She was briefly speechless as she took it from them, draped it over her shoulders, and then glanced back at Cat.  “You don’t need to make your children be nice to me,” she scolded, and Cat wasn’t sure if it was joking.  “I told you, a truce is a truce.”

Cat tilted her head and looked at Cersei strangely.  “I didn’t tell ‘em anything.  That’s just the way Snow is.”  She gestured toward the door, where Arya was waiting for her, talking to the blonde girl while Nymeria and the blonde’s golden retriever were nuzzling playfully at each other.  “Come on, let’s go.”

They paused under the awning, gazing into the press of rain illuminated by the floods in front of the theater, and then the night beyond it, where the outlines of wet vehicles sat brooding in the parking lot.  “Well, you have a good night, Cersei.”

“Just give the jacket to Aunt Cat next time you see her,” Snow called as they started sprinting across the wet asphalt to where they were parked.

_ Next time.   _ These  _ next times  _ were starting to accumulate.  There was nothing to be done about it.  

Cersei nodded and jogged as best she could in her heels out to the dripping hulk of her Range Rover, which was not parked nearly close enough to the building for her liking right now.  “Catelyn,” she called over her shoulder.  “This weekend.  Mame.  I mean it.”

Catelyn nodded and jogged after Snow toward the car.

Catelyn slid in behind the wheel.  Snow slid into the passenger seat.  Arya piled into the back with Nym.  

“What was that?”  Snow asked.

“What was what?” Catelyn asked, turning the key in the ignition and revving the engine once.

“This weekend?  Mame?  I mean it?”  Snow quoted Cersei’s parting words.  “What was that?”

“Oh.  Well, she’s got Rosalind Russell’s ‘Auntie Mame’ on VHS, and I really ought to watch it.  And since we’ve got nothing that plays VHS tapes, I’m supposed to go over there.”

Snow smirked.  

Catelyn looked at them.  “What's the matter with you?”

Snow shook their head.  “Nothing.  Let's go.”

Cat’s phone dinged.  She glanced at it on the seat beside her.  A text from Cersei.

_ Tell Snow I said thank you. _


	19. Field of Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat and Cersei watch a movie together. It is definitely, absolutely, totally not a date. :)

Jaime and Carter lounged on the couch, watching Cersei bustling around.

“Rumor has it you’ve been eating lunch with her,” Jaime drawled, looking at Cersei with amusement.

“From time to time,” Cersei hedged, marching to the kitchen for the fifth time in as many minutes, wondering why the water was simply refusing to boil.  

“Once a week at White Harbor is what I heard,”  he called after her.  

She stomped back into the room.  “Does this town have nothing better to do than monitor my eating habits?”

Cersei couldn’t quite figure out why she was experiencing a general state of anxiety at the prospect of Catelyn Stark coming over today to watch Rosalind Russell play Mame.  The other times she’d been here, to run lines, it had been because they were  _ doing _ something.  At lunch, they were  _ doing _ something.  Watching a movie for some reason didn’t feel enough like  _ doing _ something.

Then again, she supposed, their conversations did have uncomfortable pauses sometimes, and maybe having the movie to fill those blanks would actually make things easier.

Joffrey came slouching downstairs.  He looked at the tea cakes and the hand-thrown pottery cups set out on the low coffee table in the living room.  “Who’s comin’ over?”

“Catelyn Stark.  We’re meant to be watching Auntie Mame.”  

“Don’t you dare be a little shit to her when she comes in that door,” Jaime ordered.

Joffrey bristled but looked at his uncle, then at Carter, who sat next to him, smiling sweetly at him.  “Yes, sir,” he mumbled.

Jaime stood, and Carter followed his lead.  “Well, sister dear, you have fun.  Behave yourselves.  Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  She came over and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.  “Carter and I are headed into town.  Believe you’re having a hankering for some L&L fries, ain’t you, Jack?”

Carter smirked.

Jaime looked over at Joffrey.  “Joff, can I drop you anywhere?”

Joffrey shrugged.  “Ramsey’s I guess.”

Jaime rolled his eyes.  “I ain’t droppin’ you at Ramsey’s.  That kid needs his clock cleaned but good, if you ask me.  So, hell no, I will not be aiding and abetting that friendship.”

Joffrey fumed, but acquiesced.  “I dunno, the mall I guess.” 

Cersei felt an internal wave of relief.  Her other kids could be trusted to conduct themselves well enough, but she was grateful to Jaime for getting Joffrey out of the house.   She could see through the front windows that Catelyn’s car was just pulling up.

  
  
  


******

  
  


Cersei had a little trouble deciding where to sit and couldn’t seem to get comfortable no matter where she set herself down.  Catelyn was perched on the edge of the couch.  After an absurd amount of relocating, she finally relaxed into the armchair catty-corner to the end of the sofa that Cat was sitting on.  Or relaxed as much as she was ever able.  No matter.  Watching Rosalind Russell again after all this time was still a revelation.

She’d glanced over and caught Catelyn mouthing along with Mame in a couple of scenes.  She couldn’t help a little chuckle.  Cat realized what she was doing and blushed a little.  “Sorry.”

But then a little while later, Cersei was absorbed in a Mame/Vera interaction and caught Catelyn looking over at her, laughing quietly to herself.  “You’re doing it too,” Catelyn observed.  Mouthing along with her character.  

Cersei didn’t blush –did she?– but she smirked a little.  “Theater turns you into a crazy person.”

Catelyn shook her head.  “No no, I think you have to be a crazy person to do theater in the first place.”

Cersei tilted her chin up a bit, looking at Catelyn with cool appraisal, and replied, “Speak for yourself, Mrs. Stark.”  

Catelyn paused for a moment, but then caught the faint humor in Cersei’s demeanor, and she allowed herself some quiet laughter.  

Cersei found herself cracking a little smile.  Damnit, it wasn’t so bad, spending a teatime with Catelyn Stark.  

At the end of the movie, they watched Mame ascending the staircase with Patrick’s son, Michael, on her arm, and the music swelled.  “Oh, what times we’re going to have!  What vistas we’re going to explore together!” Mame was saying.  Cersei noticed Catelyn wiping her eyes, trying to be surreptitious about it, as the screen went black and “The End” swam into view.

“You alright, Mrs. Stark?” she inquired, letting herself betray just a bit of that humor again.  

“Oh, I’m fine,” Catelyn answered, and sniffled lightly.  “This was a much better performance than Lucille Ball.  You were absolutely right.”

“Of course I was.”  

Catelyn smiled again.  “Did you do much musical theater in college?  You seem to know a lot about it.”

“No, just grew up watching all those old musicals,”  Cersei sighed.  “In college, I was all about a capella.”

Catelyn sat up and looked at her with what seemed like renewed interest.  “Is that right?  I had a…  a roommate who was into a capella.  Very serious about it, went to some national championships and whatnot.  She was in an all-women’s group, with some… some really awful name, God I think I’ve blocked it out, it was so bad–”

Cersei frowned.  “It wasn’t the Minstrel Cycles, was it?” she hazarded.

Catelyn put her hands on either side of her face.  “Oh God, you know, I think it was.”

Cersei chuckled again.  “Had to be.  There were only so many all-female a capella groups that made it to the Nationals and nobody else had a name half that bad.”

“Did you go to Nationals?”

Cersei nodded.  “Four times with the Barden Bellas, if you must know.”

Catelyn looked impressed.  “I’ll bet you knew her, then, maybe.”

“Was it Arlene Trimble?”   


“No.”

“Laureen Rogers?”

“No.”

“You realize that you do have to tell me, Catelyn.  Who was it?”

“Gail Abernathy.  Know her?”

Cersei grinned a Cheshire cat grin.  She remembered Gail Abernathy.  She’d been good, but clearly had a couple of screws loose.  “Oh my!  You know, she’s a bigwig in a cappella nowadays, Gail Abernathy McCatt.  She’s on the board of the National Association now or something.”

Catelyn smiled, seeming somewhat rueful.  “Oh.  Well, good for her.  I used to worry about her back then, she was so crazy, I worried she’d end up partying too much and not figuring out what to do with her life.”

Cersei laughed.  “Trust me, sitting on a board doesn’t necessarily qualify as doing something with your life.  She might still be partying.”

Cat seemed bothered by that.

“But who knows,” Cersei went on, trying to soften her approach a little.  “It’s possible she’s pulled it together.”

Cat nodded.  

This line of conversation seemed to have taken them someplace uncomfortable.  Cersei wasn’t sure why, or how to get out of it.  “Did you want to run lines before you go?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “We just did,” she joked.

Cersei nodded.  “So we did.”

Catelyn stood, pulling herself together.  “Well, I guess I’d better go.”

Cersei stood, too.  “I wasn’t throwing you out, Catelyn, I just assumed you had to go, with your kids and the shop and everything…”

“Oh, I know, it’s fine.  But I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Cersei didn’t push.  “Alright.  Maybe next time we’ll start a little earlier so Jorelle doesn’t have to open the Trout for you.”

_ Next time.  Why was there always a next time? _

She handed Cat Snow’s jacket, thanked her for coming, and watched her pull away.

She sat in the living room for another two hours, watching Auntie Mame again by herself, and stuffing the remaining tea cakes into her mouth.

  
  
  


**********

  
  


Catelyn drove to the Trout, biting on her own fist all the way there.

A capella.  Why did it have to be a capella?  

She mentally opened a box.  She took the thought of Cersei doing a capella, and stuffed into the box and closed the lid.  Locked it.  Placed several stacks of encyclopedias on top of it.  Shoved the box into a closet, locked the closet and then placed a board over the door and nailed it shut.

_ Nope,  _ she thought.   _ Not getting into any kind of mess with that.   _

  
  


*********

  
  


Arya would rather die than have anyone know how little she actually understood about the 48 channels of Mackie mixing console that she had been sitting in front of for the last few weeks.  Especially since she was confined up in the booth with Dany, that deceptively delicate girl who seemed as though she'd been born changing the gels in those large, old, temperamental Fresnels that sparked and spat when anyone but Dany ever tried to do anything with them.  No, Arya thought, she was not going to look like an incompetent in front of that girl, that pale, pretty girl with the strange, purple eyes.  She would just read the pdf of the mixer's manual on her phone every day and try to work out the difference between channel effects and bus compression on her own.

"Arya!!"

Arya started, dropping her phone.  She looked up at Dany.  "Jesus! What?"

Dany sighed with mild frustration.  "Sorry, I just need you to come help me with something and I said your name like four times."

"Oh, uh, sorry.  I was just reading about the, uh, outboard effects for the mix bus," she said, spouting something mix-engineer-y and hoping it would sound like she knew what she was talking about.

 

"Sounds engrossing.  I wouldn't be able to put it down either," Dany answered dryly.  "Anyway, can you come give me a hand?  My profiler spot seems to need a new lamp."

 

Arya slid her phone back into her pocket.  "Yeah, sure, of course... but I don't really know anything about lights," she said, immediately kicking herself for saying it.

 

"That's ok," Dany said, smiling gently, "even if you just hold the ladder, that would be a big help."

 

They walked across the upper tier together, Dany marching with graceful purpose, a small stepladder tucked under one arm (Arya was endlessly grateful that she never once got beaned with it).  They came to the light in question, and Dany popped the ladder open and Arya anchored it with her weight, watching Dany ascend it until her ass was pretty much eye level with Arya's face.  Arya wasn't complaining about it.  In fact, she thought about biting it.  Probably too intimate a gesture, she decided, laughing to herself.  

"What's so funny?" Dany asked, unscrewing something on the back of the light.

"Oh, uh, it would take too much explaining," Arya answered, feigning dismissiveness.  She was surprised that Dany had picked up on the fact that she was laughing under her breath about something.

"I'm going to need to go up a step to get my arms around this thing," Dany told her.  "Can you anchor the ladder with your foot and just kind of support me so I don't fall forward?"

Arya agreed, placing her hands on Dany's hips.  They were firm and had a sumptuous curve to them.  She shook her head, wondering what the hell was the matter with her as she held them with a strong grip, supporting Dany as she moved further up the ladder.  She remained this way for a few minutes while Dany unscrewed various things, removed others, and fiddled around with the various bits of the light until she pulled out the lamp that was inside of it.

Her gloved hand held it down to Arya.  "What does it say on the bulb?  What's the wattage?"

Arya looked at the lamp.  The numbers seemed perfectly clear to her.  "You can't see these?"

A pause.  "No," Dany answered.  "I'm actually legally blind, did you not know that?"

Arya's cheeks went red, she mumbled some sheepish apology and read the wattage to Dany.

"Well, that explains why it's acting up.  Whoever changed this last didn't put the right lamp in it."  Dany patted the spotlight.  "Sorry, baby.  We'll fix you right up."

Arya continued holding onto Dany's hips as Dany carefully unboxed the new lamp and placed it inside the spot, and then reassembled the entire lens apparatus.  "So..."  Arya finally asked after she'd gotten over her embarrassment, "I mean... how do you do the job if you're blind?  I mean, don't you need to see?"

Dany's voice was light as she worked. "I grew up around these lights and that board.  I could do the technical end of it if my world was complete blackness."  She continued screwing things into place.  "But you know ... my world isn't completely black.  I can see light, and colors, and shapes, and I can even actually kind of  _ see _ , just only in a very small part of my field of vision.  But anyway, it's why they're still using all of this old equipment, because I know the knobs by touch.  I don't need to read the buttons to know which fader does what."

"Oh," was all Arya could manage, feeling very humbled.

"Sorry," Dany added, "I'm almost done with this and then you won't have my ass in your face anymore."

"Oh, I don't mind," Arya answered quickly, and then immediately wanted to kick herself.

Dany paused, glancing over her shoulder.  "No?"

Arya reddened.  "Uh, you know.  Not so much."

After a moment, Dany climbed down, with Arya's hands still attached to her hips.  She stopped at the bottom of the ladder.  "You can let go now," she said, her voice teasing.

"Do I have to?" Arya answered.  She wasn’t sure why she was feeling this bold.  Maybe it was her mother’s non-date with Ms. Lannister, maybe it was just hormones.  But she felt that the world was tilting things in her favor for once, so she took the leap.

Dany turned around, giving Arya a sweet smile, one that seemed to say,  _ You're such an idiot, but god you're adorable.   _ "You don't have to.  But it might be hard to walk back to the booth this way."

Arya's heart raced a little.  She wanted to plant one on her and then run away like a six year old.  Instead she let go of Dany's hips and said, "Sorry.  I didn't mean to act like..."

"Like what?  Like you like me?"  Dany reached out and ruffled Arya's hair, her mouth twitching with amusement.

Arya was blushing and thanking god that Dany probably couldn't tell.  "Well... yeah," she admitted after a minute, because she literally could not think of any other excuse for the way she was acting.

"Oh, well, I don't mind," Dany finally answered playfully.

Arya's eyes went a little wide.  "You don't?"

Dany shrugged, her smile teasing.  "Not so much."

Arya's grin was big, stupid and felt like it would become permanent if she wasn't careful.  "Uh.... well..."

Dany nodded back toward the booth.  "Come on. We have work to do.  We'll talk about it later."

She still didn’t know how old Dany was.  She figured she had to be at least eighteen if she was in college.  No way was Catelyn Stark letting her high school freshman daughter date some eighteen or nineteen year old.  She was no good at this nosing around thing.  

She hated it, but she was going to need Sansa.


	20. Saturday Night's Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Saturday night in Westeros

“Come on, San!  I’m supposed to go hang out with her on Saturday and play D&D and I still don’t know how old she is!  You know Mom is going to ask me!”

Sansa was working the counter at the Trout, mixing up another batch of lemonade while Arya lingered next to her, badgering her for help.  She sighed at her sister.  “Can’t you just ask her?”

Arya huffed.  “I don’t want to.  Just the fact that I’m asking will tell her I’m probably too young.”

Sansa frowned.  “Well, what if you _are_ too young, Arya?  If she’s eighteen or nineteen, that’s … kind of a big difference.”

Arya stomped her foot.  “I know!  But it’s not fair!  We like each other!”

Sansa stirred the giant tub of lemonade thoughtfully.  “Well, have you Googled her?  Facebooked her?  Anything like that?”

Arya shook her head, feeling dumb.  “I… I don’t actually know her last name,” she realized.

Sansa rolled her eyes, and smacked Arya on the back of the head.  “You’re making this a lot of work for me.”  She thought.  “There must be a cast and crew list, Mom must have something lying around with everyone’s names on it.  We’ll poke around when we go home.”

  


******

 

Robb came home with his sisters in tow, checked the list on the front of the refrigerator, and saw that it was his turn to preheat the oven to 375 for the lasagna.  He set it going and sat down with his sisters to negotiate the weekend.  He’d been invited to a party at the Bolton place, so they had to work out amongst themselves what was going to happen when.

Arya wrinkled her nose.  “Why are you even going?  That guy’s a jerk.  He’s worse than Joffrey.”

Robb shrugged.  “A couple of the other guys from the team are going.  Ramsey’s dad just put in a hot tub on the deck.  And everyone knows you can get beers at Bolton’s.  You know how Rickard is about beer.”

Sansa shook her head.  “Sounds terrible.”

Robb nodded.  “Yeah, actually, it does.  I couldn’t give a shit about hot tubs and I don’t like beer.  But, the other guys are going, so I’m going to go for a little while at least.  I don’t think I’m going to stay too long but I’ve gotta show up.”

“Arya has plans with that girl from the theater,” Sansa volunteered. 

“I’m supposed to go over her place and play D&D.”

“OK, well, maybe I can drop you on the way,” Robb offered.  “Where does she live?”

“Summerhall Lane, I think?”

Rob nodded.  “Then it should be right down the road, actually.”

“Snow’s supposed to go out with Ygritte, I think,” Arya added after a moment’s thought.

Sansa looked up at the dry erase board.  “Mom has a Saturday night rehearsal. I don’t really have plans,” she said, “so I can watch Rickon, I guess.”

 

*******

 

Over lunch at White Harbor the next day, Catelyn and Cersei were exchanging information about their children’s comings and goings.  “Robb is going to a party at the Boltons’ on Saturday night, apparently.”

Cersei raised an eyebrow.  “Your boy gives Ramsey Bolton the time of day?”

Cat sighed.  “No, not really.  But one of the boys on the track team is friends with his family so I guess they’re going.  I don’t care for it, but I trust Robb’s judgment.”

Cersei wondered what that must be like.  “Well, at least now I know where Joffrey will be on Saturday.  It’s not like he tells me much.”

Catelyn took her hand sympathetically.  “He’ll grow out of it.  Arya went through a tough period too.  It’ll be alright.”

 

*************

 

Sansa found a moment to rifle through her mother’s papers on the nightstand and found the cast and crew list she was looking for, complete with phone numbers.  The lighting tech was listed as Danaerys Targaryen.  Jeez, she thought, no wonder she goes by Dany. 

Twitter yielded nothing.  She found her on Facebook but she had to friend her in order to get access to any information.  Dead end.

“Well?”  Arya asked, anxiously peering over her shoulder.

“Well, I’ve got nothing.  She keeps her social media locked down. So, you need to send her a friend request.  And if you don’t get an answer in time for Saturday, you’re going to have to sidestep it with Mom.”

“What?”

Sansa thumbed in the direction of the whiteboard.  “Don’t put it up till the last minute.  If you mention it as Mom’s going out the door to run lines with Ms. Lannister, she probably won’t ask, and if she does, I can distract her with something.”

Arya thought this sounded like a lousy idea, but she didn’t have a better one.

  


****************

 

When Saturday arrived, Arya had still not been confirmed as a friend on Dany’s Facebook account.  She probably doesn’t go on it much, she reasoned.  That had to be it, right?  Otherwise, why wouldn’t she have responded? 

Catelyn predictably bustled around, changing her top several times and fiddling with her hair -- up?  Down?  Half and half?-- until Sansa almost wanted to tease her about it.  “You ok, Mom?”

Catelyn sighed heavily and refreshed her lipstick. “Oh, fine, I guess.”

Sansa glanced at the wall clock in the kitchen.  “You better quit fussing around Mom, you’re going to be late.”  She paused, measuring out another cup of flour for the baking project she was going to be keeping Rickon busy with this evening.

Rickon came breezing through.  He stopped.  “Cookies?”

“Cookies,” she confirmed.  He smiled, and then went tearing off into the den.  Something crashed, and she heard Bran yelp.  Then nothing.  She went back to scanning the recipe.

Arya came wandering into the kitchen.  Her eyes flicked over Catelyn’s jeans and sleeveless sweater ensemble and the delicate emerald earrings she wore that caught the color of her eyes.  “You look nice, Mom,” she remarked.  “Hot date?”

Catelyn snorted.  “Only if Cersei Lannister qualifies.”  She quickly appraised Arya and noted that she was wearing jeans without any rips in them, and her good Ramones shirt that didn’t have any of the lettering peeled off.  “And what about you?  You’re wearing pants without any holes, I see.”

Arya shrugged.  “Yeah.  Dany from the theater invited me over to play D&D tonight.”

Catelyn nodded sagely.  “Ah, D&D.  Sounds serious.”

Arya was evidently doing her best to act casual.  “Yeah, she just called a little while ago.  She didn’t feel like going to that stupid party so she asked me if I wanted to come hang out.”

Catelyn smiled that “I’m your mother and I know you’re not telling me everything” smile.  “That’s the lighting girl?”

Arya nodded.

“And how old is she?”

Arya shrugged. 

Sansa looked up at the clock in the kitchen.  “Mom!  I told you to stop fussing around, look!  It’s quarter of, you’re gonna be late!”

Catelyn gasped.  She bit back a curse, grabbed her handbag off the table, kissed them each on the cheek, and went dashing out the front door.  “Have fun tonight!  Behave yourselves!” she called over her shoulder as she went dashing out the door.

Arya glanced over at Sansa, grateful for the interference.

 _Behave yourselves._ Catelyn never said that to her children.  She never had to.  Sansa had noticed it, but decided she was going to pretend that it wasn’t an omen.  She was going to stay home tonight, and bake cookies with Rickon, and maybe snoop on the Targaryen girl some more, time permitting.

 

**********************

 

“A half-orc paladin??”  Dany demanded, rolling the seven-sided die around in her palm.

“Yeah!”  Arya exclaimed, a little defensive, but still laughing.  Dany was laughing too.  “Twelve hit points, armor class sixteen, sixty foot range on a spear throw.  Plus he’s got Divine Sense and Lay on Hands!”

Dany giggled, sprawled backwards on the carpet in her room for a moment.  “Alright, alright, I’m sorry I made fun.  You don’t seem like an orc to me.”

“Half orc,” Arya corrected.

“Pardon me.  Half orc.” 

Arya struck a dramatic pose.  “I might not be lovely to look upon,” she intoned, “but glory blazes in my eyes and in my blade.”

Dany snickered, and then giggled uncontrollably.  “You doof!”

“Come on,” Arya retorted.  “You like it a little.”

Dany gazed shyly at the floor.  “Maybe more than a little.”

Arya crawled over, quickly closing the small gap between them.  She planted a kiss on Dany’s pale, soft cheek.  “How much more?” she asked, genuinely curious.

Dany tilted her face up.  She leaned forward, and kissed Arya lightly on the lips.  Longer than a peck, but nothing deep or demanding. 

Arya gave a little surprised gasp.  “Really?”

Dany smirked.  “Really.”

Arya grinned, knowing she probably looked overly pleased with herself and not caring.  She kissed Dany again, a little longer this time, taking in the softness of her lips.  And then again.  It was very slowly, carefully, turning into making out, or whatever that was in Arya’s mind.  She was thrilled.  Dany made her feel like a full-on fool.  It was … well, awesome.

Arya’s phone rang.

She stopped kissing Dany and picked it up.  “Ugh,” she grumbled.  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Who is it?” Dany asked.

“This jerk kid from my karate class … I’m kinda …”  she sighed.  “I’m kinda responsible for helping to train him.” 

She didn’t want to look like a child in front of Dany.  She wanted to look like someone who took things seriously.  She answered the phone.  “What do you want, Joffrey?”

“Stark?”

“Yeah.  What do you want?”

He sounded weirdly nervous.  “Look, I… how come you’re able to beat up people bigger than you?”

 _What the…?_ “It’s not only because I’m better than them.  It’s because I’m not scared of them.”

Joffrey’s voice came through the line, along with some pretty shaky-sounding breaths.  “OK but… what if you have to hit someone you’re scared of?”

Arya was getting impatient but also curious.  And… concerned?  “What....”  She sighed, feeling like she was probably going to regret asking.  “...what’s going on, man?”

Joffrey’s voice dropped really low, like he was honestly, truly afraid.  “Look, I’m just … I’m at this party at Ramsey’s house, okay, and… I… he wants me to do something that’s really…. It’s just bad, okay?  I can’t do it.  And I… I can’t let him do it either.”

Arya sighed.  “What’s he going to do, Joffrey?”

“There’s a girl upstairs, she’s passed out on his bed because she drank too much, and he wants me to … you know… and I don’t want to.  And he said if I don’t, he will.”

 _Well, what do you know?  Even a jerk like Joffrey has limits,_ Arya thought dryly.  If he was going to have limits, she supposed, not taking advantage of unconscious drunk girls was probably a good one to have.  “You’re scared of Ramsey?”

“Ain't you met him?”  Joffrey demanded.  “He’s big, and he’s psychotic.”

Arya couldn’t believe it.  “Look, my brother’s at the party, I’ll have him go back you up.”

“Your brother’s not gonna back me up.”

“He will if I ask him to.”   Joffrey’s silence indicated that he was not comforted by this.  Arya cracked her knuckles.   “Alright, look.  I’m actually down the block right now, at the Targaryen place.  I’ll get over there as soon as I can.  Just … do the right thing, man.  For once in your life.  Do the right thing.  Don’t be THAT GUY.  Okay?  Can you do that?  Who cares if he’s bigger, and crazier.  I’m going to come over there and we’ll take care of this together, okay?”

“Okay,” came the uncertain reply from the other end of the phone.

“Don’t be that guy, Joffrey,” she said again, more forcefully, and hung up.

Dany was looking at her curiously.  “What’s going on?”

Arya shook her head.  “You know that crappy party we didn’t want to go to tonight?”

Dany nodded.

“We’re going.  And I’m probably going to have to beat someone up.”


	21. In the Words of Willie Nelson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday night, Lannister style.

Joffrey’s mother had given him a capital-T Talk before he left the house tonight.  Gawen Glover’s Jeep had pulled up in the driveway and was honking repeatedly, obnoxiously, and he was headed toward the front door.

“Joffrey!” she’d called to him. 

He’d half turned around, anxious to go.

She’d looked positively awkward.  “Make good choices at this party.”

He’d grunted, and started out the screen door.

“And-” she added loudly, clearly not done.  “I know you still know the difference between right and wrong, Joffrey Baratheon.  You don’t need to tell me everything you do, but …”  She shifted, looking pained.  “... try not to do things you’ll regret later.  I’m…”  She huffed, and rolled her eyes briefly.  “...Lord help me, I’m trusting you.”

He looked at her, bewildered.  Usually, those types of talks used to come from his father, and they usually went more along the lines of, “BOY, DON’T YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT ….  OR I’LL …. SO HARD IT’LL MAKE YOUR DAMN HEAD SPIN!”

He’d grunted again, and left.

And now, he was standing in the middle of a party.  The host was on the ground, nursing a bloody nose and staring up at him woozily.  Joffrey had blood on his knuckles.  A girl half his size was standing next to him, her eyes fierce, nodding in approval.  “Good job, man,” she was saying to him.  “We’ve got three more.”  She gestured to the three big guys that surrounded them:  the Umber brothers, and Gawen Glover, getting ready to retaliate for what they’d just done.

“They’re bigger than us,”  he whispered to Arya.

“Doesn’t fucking matter,” she shot back.  “Put more hip into it when you punch, k?”    


“OK.”

They both raised their fists and took stances, ready to take on three brawny drunk guys who were laughing at him because he had a tiny girl fighting next to him.  And then the larger, more muscular half of the senior year members of the Westeros track team entered.  Robb Stark bellowed in his deepest voice, “IS THERE A PROBLEM HERE?”

Arya pointed to Ramsey, still on the floor with his bloody nose.  “This shithead was trying to take advantage of a passed-out drunk girl.”  She pointed to Joffrey.  “This shithead stopped him.”   She pointed to the three guys getting ready to fight them.  “And these shitheads think they’re going to beat us up because Joffrey laid Ramsey out like a bitch.”

Behind Robb, Rickard Karstark laughed and rolled his eyes.  Robb nodded and looked at the scene, his face difficult to read apart from being mildly surprised.  “Glover,” he decided after a moment,  “take these two shitheads and get out of here or we’ll call the cops.  In the words of Willie Nelson, the party's over.”  He walked toward them, flanked by the other players.   “Joffrey, where’s the girl?”

“Up in Ramsey’s room,” he said quietly, “passed out on the bed.”

Robb nodded.  “Rick, can you and Garlan take care of the girl?  Get her home safe?”  They nodded and left the room, looking for the stairs.  He looked back at Joffrey.  “I think I better drive you home, too, man.  You look like you’re done for the night.”

Joffrey nodded silently. 

They piled into the car:  Robb in front, Dany, Arya and Joffrey in back.

“My mom’s gonna be pissed at me for getting into a fight,” he sighed. “You can’t tell her what happened.”

Arya snorted.  “Your mom is gonna be proud of you for doing the right thing.”  She peered at him.  “You really don’t get how this all works, do you?”

He leaned morosely against the window and said nothing.    


“You don’t want her to know because she’ll know you were drinking, that Ramsey was drinking, that you were hanging out with a potential rapist… Am I hitting all the high notes so far?”

He nodded.  “If she knows, she won’t let me hang out with him anymore.”

“You just beat him up.  I don’t think _he’s_ going to let you hang out with him anymore either.”  She punched his shoulder lightly.  “Besides, he’s a jerk.  Why do you want to hang out with him?”

“It ain’t like I got other friends,” he pointed out, sulking.

Arya cackled.  “Baratheon, you’re killing me.  I just showed up to a party to help you kick someone’s ass.  I don’t like it either, but I’m pretty sure that makes us friends.”   
  
  
  


*******

  
  


Catelyn and Cersei had finished running their lines a little while ago.  Now they were just sitting on the porch with some sweet tea, idly fanning themselves and discussing whether they supposed their children were up to no good or not.

“I called Roose, this afternoon, you know,”  Cersei pronounced with disdain.  “Said he was going to be at the house with those kids all night.  But I think you know how much Roose Bolton’s word is worth when it comes to that boy of his.”

Catelyn nodded and hmphed.

The sat in the swing, staring into the blurry moon sitting in the hazy sky, quiet for a moment.

“You know,” Cersei began after a brief silence.  “I thought about what you told me, when you had problems with your Arya, about keeping communication open and such.  I gave Joff a little talk before he left.  Lord knows if it did a damn bit of good or not.”

Catelyn smiled.  “You can’t get anywhere if you don’t start trying somewhere.”    


Cersei nodded and hmphed.    


“Lord is it muggy tonight!”  Catelyn exclaimed, and held her glass of iced tea against her forehead, letting the condensation on the outside of it cool her face.  She moved the glass down to her cheek, letting it rest there for a moment with her eyes closed.  Cersei forgot what she was going to say as she looked at Catelyn’s face, momentarily relaxed, listening to her sigh with relief.    


Catelyn opened her eyes and glanced over at her.  “Don’t you think?”

“Hm?”

“It’s awfully muggy tonight.”

“It’s Georgia, Catelyn.”

Catelyn laughed quietly.  “True, that, Ms. Lannister.”

Cersei was smiling slyly, preparing another smart remark, when headlights lit up the driveway suddenly.  They both jumped, startled.  It was a little early for Joff to be home yet.

Catelyn squinted through the headlights.  “I think that’s one of our cars…”  The lights flicked off.  “It is.”

Robb got out.  “Hi, mom.  Evening Ms. Lannister.”

Cersei’s stomach sank, filled with dread.    


The passenger side door in the back swung open, and Joff got out, followed by Arya.  The porch lights were a little muted, but both kids looked a bit worse for wear.  And was that … blood on Joffrey’s hand?  She jumped up.  “Joffrey Baratheon, what in the hell–?”

Robb put a hand up.  “Looks worse than it is, I promise you.”

Cersei put her hands on her hips.  Catelyn stood up and duplicated the gesture.  They stood there like a matched pair of primly furious bookends.   “Arya!  Robb! Why does Joffrey have blood on him?  And why is that girl with you? You have ten seconds to explain what happened here,”  Catelyn warned, “or I am declaring martial law.”

“Me too,” Cersei chimed in.

Robb stepped forward, calm and steady.  “Mom, Ms. Lannister, it’s OK.  Joffrey did good tonight.  Ramsey was trying to get him into trouble, and he called Arya.  Happened she was down the block at Dany’s, so she came to the party to help him out.  There was a little bit of a scuffle, but truth is, we all know Ramsey need a good beatdown, which Arya and Joff gave him.  Me and the guys cleaned up after them.”

Cersei tilted her head, looking at Joffrey with intense curiosity.  “What was he trying to–?”

Catelyn put a hand on her arm.  “Don’t push too hard all at once,” she said softly.  “Look at him; whatever happened, he’s a little shellshocked.”

She was right.  Joffrey did look like he’d been for a stroll through a bombing in Afghanistan.  She paused for a minute to process that when that boy of hers had needed the courage to do the right thing, that he’d reached out to Catelyn’s children.  And more than that, they’d been there for him.  She was going to need some time with this one.

She took a breath.  “Thank you, Robb.  Thank you, Arya.”

She and Catelyn turned to each other.  “I’ll let you deal with your boy.  See you next time?”

Cersei nodded.  She waved a regal hand at Joffrey.  He turned, awkwardly shook Arya’s hand and then clapped her on the shoulder, then trudged up the steps.  Cersei gingerly placed a hand on his back and led him toward the door.  “I want to hear all about it, but why don’t we have something to eat and put a movie on?  I think they put up the last Fast & Furious movie on the OnDemand, finally.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Come on, let’s go inside.”

  
  
  


**********

  
  


Arya stood there, her head spinning.  Was she really friends with Joffrey Baratheon now?    


They still had to drive Dany back home.  Shit.  Dany.  Her mother noticed that she was in the back seat.  This wasn’t over for her, either.

Catelyn marched down the steps toward her.  “Now.  I’m very glad to hear that you were there for Joffrey when he needed help.  But.”  Her eyes flicked toward the back seat.  “You dodged my question earlier, Arya.”

Shit.  She was going to have flat out ask Dany how old she was.  And worse, she was going to have to do it in front of her mother.    


Mercifully, at this moment, her phone rang.  She whipped it out of her pocket.  It was Sansa.   _ Thank you lord.   _ “It’s San,” she told her mother, “I’m just gonna answer this.”  She hit the talk button.  “What’s up, San?  Everything OK?”

“No!  First of all, I just got a really crazy phone call from Jeyne, are you alright?  Did you really go that stupid party and help Joffrey beat up Ramsey Bolton?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.  Is that all?”

“What do you mean, is that all?!”

“Look, I’ll tell you everything when I get home.  It’s too much to get into now.  So?  What else?”

“I did a little more searching on your girl.  I have good news.”

Arya took a deep breath.  “What is it?”

“She’s a genius.”

Arya snorted.  “Yeah, I know that.”

“No no, what I mean is, I found an article in one of the local papers, and… She’s going to school on a National Science Foundation grant for herpetology.”

“What-atology?”

“Herpetology.  She studies reptiles.  Anyway… She skipped a couple of years of grade school.  She’s in her first year of college.  But she’s only sixteen.”

Arya whooped so loudly she probably scared the red out of Sansa’s hair, but she didn’t care.  Nineteen would have been a problem.  But sixteen would be fine.  Sixteen, her mother could deal with.  Sixteen!

_ Sixteen! _

“I love you, San.  I love so much.  I really, really do.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Just hurry up and get home so you can tell me everything.”


	22. Two Lunches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two families get a bit closer.

Cersei’s cell rang.  Eleven thirty on Wednesday.  It had to be a lunch call.  “Morning, Mrs. Stark,” she answered breezily.

“Morning Ms. Lannister,” Catelyn’s voice came, warm through the phone. 

“Lunch?” Cersei inquired.

“Naturally,” Cat answered.  “White Harbor?”

Cersei hesitated, remembering the sly chuckle on Jaime’s lips, remarking on the frequency of their trips to White Harbor that had gotten back to him some way or other.  “Actually, much as I like it, I wouldn’t mind a change of pace.”

Catelyn paused for a moment.  “Actually, I know a good place.  Good beer and wine, surf and turf, burgers…?”

“Fine.  Where?”

“Silver Spur Bar and Grill, three blocks down from the strip mall.”

  
  


************

  


“Catelyn!”  Edmure’s wife Roslin greeted her warmly when they came through the door.  “It’s so good to see you!”  She and Catelyn exchanged pecks on the cheek.  Sweet girl, that Roslin; Edmure, bless his heart, had managed to find himself the only Frey worth marrying in the whole lot.  Roslin’s wide hazel eyes settled on Cersei for a moment.  “And, Ms. Lannister, isn’t it?  So it’s true, then.”  Her smiled widened.  “Come on and sit, I’ll get Edmure.”

 _So it’s true, then._ What the hell did that mean?  Catelyn and Cersei exchanges frowns and followed Roslin to a choice booth near the bar, near the sunshine pouring through the front window.  The view could have been worse; Edmure’s little spot looked out onto the golf course, another of their father’s holdings.  If he'd opened the Spur down in the strip mall, they'd be looking out onto asphalt.

Catelyn and Cersei spread their burgundy cloth napkins across their laps and each began buttering a slice of the hot bread Roslin had set down for them.

“How long has this place been here?” Cersei asked before sinking her teeth into the crusty bread. 

“Oh,” Catelyn sighed after thinking a moment, “he opened a few years before we moved down, I think.”

“Six years,” came Edmure’s voice from the far end of the bar.  He emerged from the kitchen, wiping down a pint glass.  He was sunny, his hair Tully red and looking permanently mussed, his eyes crinkled at the corners from smiling too much.  “Give or take.  Dad liked the idea of people having someplace nice to go after coming off the links.”  He nodded out the window at the golf course.  He came over and leaned down, kissed his sister on the cheek.

“Where is Dad, anyhow?”  Catelyn inquired, tugging casually at his collar, which was buttoned lopsided, as it was more often than not.

Edmure sighed and looked down at his collar, fiddled with the button for a moment and then realized that he’d have to redo his buttons all the way down, and gave up.  “He and Uncle Brynden are chasing marlin off of Bermuda now, I think.  They just wrapped up a week in Belize.”

Cersei’s eyebrow lifted with interest.  “What are those two up to?”

Edmure sighed expansively and grinned.  “It’s Dad’s seventy-fifth this year, so Uncle Brynden actually dragged him off for a globetrotting fishing trip, hitting all the best spots in the world.  It was literally the only thing that could drag Dad away from work.”

Cersei nodded.  “It’s a generational thing, I think.  My old man is the same.  Workaholic.”

“You say Dad, take a break, you’ve secured the fortunes of the next four generations of Tullys, and he’ll say, what you’re saying is I’ve not yet secured the fortunes of the fifth.  Meanwhile, the old estate is sitting there just about falling to pieces.”  Edmure grinned fondly.  His eyes lingered on Cersei a moment, flicked between her and Catelyn a couple of times. Catelyn knew he was trying to figure out how they’d arrived here, his sister having what appeared to be a cordial lunch with a woman who managed to make half of town uncomfortable.

Catelyn sighed.  "You could always fix it up, you know."  It made her sad to think of Riverrun, the old Tully family estate, crumbling under the slow violence of time. 

“Not me," Edmure laughed.  "I can barely manage this place, and you know I can't even lift a damn hammer."  He paused, remembering that Cersei was there.  "Pardon our family chatter,” he said hastily.  “Can I get you a drink, Ms. Lannister?  Some wine, maybe?”

She saw Cersei stiffen.  Catelyn felt a pang of regret in her stomach.   _Dummy,_ she thought. _I called this woman a lush in front of forty people, do you have to offer wine to her, and only her?_ One day, it’d be nice to get through a conversation with Edmure that didn’t involve him accidentally slighting someone.  “Two glasses, Ed,” Cat answered smoothly.  “I think you’ve got a nice house red?”

Her brother nodded.  “Yeah.  It’ll go real nice with the steak special, if you decide to get that.”

Cersei relaxed visibly in her seat.

Edmure shuffled off to get the wine. 

“Now,” she began with intent focus.  “Your children have done an extraordinary thing.”  Catelyn began to dismiss her but Cersei pursued.  “You know what my son was like when they met.  Your daughter got to him, got him to remember right and wrong.  She was there for him when he wanted to do the right thing but didn’t feel he could call me.  She stood up next to him when he was ready to stand up to that no-good Ramsey Bolton.  Your kids brought him home.”  She took Catelyn’s hand with a serious look.  “I’ve got a lot of work still left to do with that boy, goodness knows, but… we’ve got a new beginning, and I owe it to you and your family.” 

Catelyn had no idea what to say.  She’d never seen Cersei be quite this sincere before.  “Well,”  she began, feeling like she’d had the breath knocked out of her.

Cersei wasn’t done.  “So.  I am hosting you and your children this weekend.  We’ll have a nice cookout on the deck.  They can bring their significant others.  You’ll meet my brothers properly.  Our families can get to know each other the way they ought to have in the first place.  You’re all coming.”  Her green eyes focused, level and locked with Catelyn’s. 

“I…”  Cat breathed deeply.  A gesture like this was no small thing coming from someone as closed off as Cersei.  “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.  It’s not negotiable.”

“Of course,” Catelyn sighed.  “Of course we’ll be there.”

  


*******

  


Arya sat at a table in the cafeteria with Bran, munching on chicken nuggets and slightly soggy, salty fries.  “So… Joffrey actually laid out Ramsey Bolton?”

Arya nodded.  “With a little help from me, but yeah.”

Bran whistled.  “That is about the last thing I would have expected you to ever say.” 

Arya nodded.  “Yeah, he’s, uh… I dunno.  He’s not the absolute worst, it turns out.”

Bran sipped his chocolate milk.  “Now, that is an endorsement,” he chuckled.  He glanced over to the other side of the cafeteria, where Ramsey sat with Gawen Glover and one of the Umber brothers, studiously not making eye contact with them.  He saw Joffrey come off of the lunch line, realize that he couldn’t possibly sit with those guys, and start scanning the room for an empty table. “Your, uh, not-friend seems to need a place to sit.”

Arya sighed irritably.  She twisted around and saw Joffrey.  “I guess I gotta let him sit with us, right?”

Bran snickered some more.  “I have no idea.  You’re the one that made friends with him.”

Arya huffed.  “Come on, Bran.  He’s my kohai, I’m responsible for him, and he called me up asking for help stopping a date-rape.  What was I supposed to do, be like, ‘uh, no, not my problem’?”

Bran shrugged.  “Well, he’s your problem now.”

Arya waved at Joffrey.  “Hey, Baratheon!” she called loudly.

Joffrey realized she was waving at him, and with a mildly surprised look, he slouched toward their table.  He put his tray down across from her and sat down.  “Uh, hey,” he said awkwardly.  He nodded wordlessly at Bran.

“Guess you won’t be sitting with those jerks anymore,” she observed casually.  “What’d you get?”

Joffrey shrugged.  “Hot dogs and corn.”  He started dumping the loose corn niblets onto his ketchup-smeared hot dogs with a plastic spoon.

Arya made a slight gagging face.  “Anyway, are they making you guys play dodgeball in P.E. this week?”

Joffrey shrugged.  “Yeah.  Not my favorite.  I like archery better.”

Arya looked mildly surprised.  “You any good at it?”

“I ain’t bad.  I mean, I ain’t that ginger chick from Westeros North, but I’m alright at it.”

Simultaneously, all three of their phones went off.  They all looked awkwardly at each other, then whipped their phones out.  Arya had a text.  So did Bran.  Their phones both said the same thing: a text from their mother, saying, _Don’t make plans this Saturday evening.  We’re all going to the Baratheon place for a cookout.  You can bring dates if you have them._

They looked at each other.  Then they looked at Joffrey.  He had a text from his own mother.  He held up the phone and showed it to them:   _Cookout at our place Saturday night with the Starks.  Your ass better be there or I will make your life miserable for an undetermined period of time._

“Damn,” Arya said, almost impressed.  She was starting to understand why Sansa was so impressed with her.  “Well, dude, I guess we’re hanging out Saturday night.”


	23. Every Picture Tells A Story

“So this is really happening?” Robb asked his sisters as they sat at the kitchen table, doing homework and listening to a Regina Spektor album on low volume. 

“Yep,” Arya answered, munching on a ginger snap from the plate between her and Sansa.  “And you’re supposed to bring Talisa if you want.  Bran’s bringing Meera.  Snow’s bringing Ygritte.  We all get dates.”  She frowned at a math problem and attacked her last five minutes of work with an eraser.  Whatever y was, it didn’t equal 17. 

“So,” he chuckled.  “You bringing Dany?”

Arya squirmed and didn’t look up.  “I dunno.  That would mean I have to say she’s my…”  She trailed off. 

“Mom won’t care,” Sansa assured her.

Arya shrugged.  “That’s not it.  It’s just such a … an official thing, you know?  We’re not exactly official.”

Sansa snorted and washed some cookie down with a gulp of milk.  “Pffff,” was all she said.  “There are worse things you could be.”

“Yeah,” Arya shot back with a self-satisfied smirk.  “I could be you and not have a date.”

“You don’t have to hide her from Mom anymore.  You could thank me for that, you know,”  Sansa responded primly.  She underlined a few lines in her history textbook.   “It’s not my fault if you don’t have the ovaries to bring it up.”

Arya huffed.

Robb laughed and ruffled her hair.  “You should tell her.  And you should bring Dany to the thing.  Man up.”

“Woman up,” she corrected him.

“Right,” he agreed.  “That.”

He strolled away, checked the whiteboard in the hall, and realized that he’d better hurry up if he was going to pick Bran up from book club.

  


*******

 

“And what about you, brother dear?”

Cersei leaned down and turned the chicken in the broiler with a pair of tongues, squinting into the wavy heat.

Jamie nursed a brandy and grinned.  “Well, I guess you know I ain’t found a special somebody since I’m back.”  He let his inflection hang in the air a moment.

She sighed.  “You want to bring Captain Carter?”

He shrugged.  “If it’s all the same to you.”

Cersei straightened up, wiped her eyes, and shut the oven.  “I suppose,” she agreed grudgingly.

“Alright if she brings that gal she’s been seeing from the L&L?”

Cersei’s mouth turned sour.

“What?” he demanded.  “You got something against Jack’s girlfriend?”

She placed her hands on her hips.  “You know, this is meant to be a _family_ gathering.”

“And Jack’s family as far as I’m concerned.”

Cersei sputtered for a moment and then stomped over to the refrigerator and rattled the bottles around inside, as though she was looking for something, but didn’t appear to pull anything from it.  “Brothers in arms and all that, I suppose,” she huffed.  “Which reminds me,” she added indignantly, “why in hell, in all that time, did you fail to mention that your wingman, _Jack–_ ”  She violently air quoted the name. “–was a beautiful woman?”

Jaime chuckled.  “Beautiful, eh?  You jealous, sister dear?”

“Oh, shut up,” she snorted.  “Fine.  Bring her and her little waitress.  See if I care.”

Joffrey wandered in, smelling the chicken.  “Bring who?” he asked, disinterestedly.

“Your uncle means to bring Captain Carter and her… _companion…_ to the cookout on Saturday.”

Joffrey wrinkled his nose.  “Whassat mean?”

Jaime chuckled.  “Her lady friend,” he clarified.

Joffrey made a face.  “What, like, she’s queer?”

Jaime frowned.  “I’m not sure that’s the polite term, but yes.”

Joffrey shrugged.  “Whatever.  Doesn’t mean nothing to me.”  He wandered over to the oven and peered through the window.  Unable to see, he tugged the door open to get a look.  Cersei swatted his wrist with a wooden spoon. 

“Leave that door closed or it won’t cook right!” 

He pulled his wrist back and nursed it with a note of complaint.

She straightened up.  “By the way, Joffrey, you’re not bringing anyone, are you?”

He looked at her as if she had six heads.  “Like who?”

Cersei pursed her lips and needled, “Well, I guess you don’t need to since Arya Stark is going to be there.”

Joffrey looked pained.  “Mom, gross!  It ain’t like that!” he exclaimed, and stalked out of the kitchen.

Satisfied, Cersei went back to cooking and planning the cookout menu in her head.

  
  


*************************

  


After dinner, Arya was sprawled on the living room couch, watching a Hong Kong kung fu flick with a bowl of popcorn and Nymeria curled up in her lap, occasionally dipping her snout into the popcorn and getting gently swatted away.

“Don’t let her eat that,” Cat admonished as she entered the room. 

Arya glanced up.  “I’m not.”  She was being sort of half-hearted about it, though.

Cat settled on the couch next to her and smiled with an expectant look.  “So, Saturday is rapidly approaching,” she began, and then let it hang out there for a moment.

“Mom,” Arya sighed. 

“So, are you in fact bringing someone to the cookout?”

Arya clearly didn’t want to have this conversation, but it was Thursday.  She had told her mother she wanted to bring someone so that Mrs. Lannister could have the head count, but she hadn’t told her who.

 _Woman up,_ she reminded herself.

“Yeah.”

“So, are you going to make me torture it out of you with pliers?  Who is it?”

Arya focused on scratching Nym’s chin.  “It’s Dany.”

“The lighting girl from the theater.”

Arya nodded.

“As your date,”  Catelyn clarified.

Arya nodded again.

“Well,” Cat said breezily, “I’m not sure why you felt you had to be so circumspect about this.”

Arya shrugged.  “‘Cause I don’t know what it means?  I don’t know if I’m suddenly into girls now or if it’s just I like _her_ , but..”  She faltered. 

Catelyn nodded.  “You feel like if you declare yourself, you have to label yourself, and you’re uncomfortable with that.”

Arya nodded.

Catelyn ruffled her hair.  “Nope.  Not at all.”  She sighed.  “Now listen, Arya.  I support you one thousand percent, and you should know that.  But I wanted you to be aware that… I’m not sure to what extent, but I’ve gotten the impression from certain conversations we’ve had that Ms. Lannister… might be a little homophobic.”

Arya twitched.  She didn’t think of herself as something anyone should be phobic of.  “So what?  Are you saying I shouldn’t bring her?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “No no, not at all.  I just wanted you to be aware.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

Catelyn sighed.  “I don’t know.  Just … look, I’m sure she’s not going to be rude about it, but if she is, or if she seems uncomfortable, I want you to know that so that you don’t take it personally.”

Arya began to fidget.  “Well, how can you be friends with her if she’s like that?”

Catelyn sighed.  “Look, maybe I’m wrong.  And even if I’m not, just because she might feel that way, it doesn’t mean that she’s not worth the effort of trying to change her mind.”

At this moment, Robb wandered in.  He glanced at the kung fu on the television with an approving nod, and then turned to his mother and sister.  “You know Mom, I don’t know what Ms. Lannister said to you, but I’ve actually heard differently about her.”

Catelyn tilted her head and gave him a curious look.  “What have you heard?”

Robb shrugged and waved.  “Nothing specific.  Anyway look, if Mrs. Lannister can’t accept our family the way it is, after we helped Joffrey and everything else?  Maybe she’s not worth being friends with, right?”

Catelyn and her daughter nodded in unison.  Arya sighed with something like relief.

But Catelyn, it was clear, was still wondering in the back of her mind.   _What had Robb heard?_

  


*******************

  


And so, on Saturday evening, the Stark clan descended upon the Baratheon place with their significant others in tow, bearing wine and baked goods that Cersei would insist that they shouldn’t have.

The back of the Baratheon house opened onto a wooden deck that wrapped across the whole back of the house and then spilled out onto the landscaped acre behind it.  Jaime and Carter had broken out the ladder and strung up fairy lights in the magnolia trees around the deck, and they were just starting to glow as the soft, pale purple evening crept in.  Jaime stoked the enormous Weber grill that was just about big enough to take a whole cow, hoofs and all, and the smell of flame and charcoal bit the mild evening air.  He waved his prosthetic hand at the arriving party and smiled politely.

Cersei swept them all around the deck and made introductions:  Tyrion, who was standing with his cute massage therapist girlfriend Shae, tapping a keg of something microbrew that he’d brought.  Tommen, who was sitting in a chaise lounge reading a comic book.  Myrcella, who was hooking up her ipad to the large boom box at the end of the table so that she could get some music going.  Jaime, who set down the tongs and marched over, dazzling them with his smile.  Captain Carter, and her… lady friend, Angie.  There it was, Catelyn thought.  That mild awkwardness.  She tried not to frown and instead just smiled brightly and shook Captain Carter’s hand (“You can call me Peg, or Jack, like Yank does,” she’d said with a smile nearly as dazzling as Jaime’s.)

Catelyn took her turn with a round of introductions: Rickon, Bran and his girlfriend Meera, Snow and their girlfriend Ygritte, Robb and Talisa, Sansa, and Arya and her date, Dany.  “You know Dany of course,” Cat added quickly, “from the theater.  Up in the lighting booth.”

Cersei nodded vaguely.  “Yes, of course.  Lovely to see you.  Thank you so much for coming.”

Joffrey came slouching outside a moment later, seeming surprised at the large crowd in the backyard, despite knowing they were going to be there.  Cersei introduced him, he grunted and mumbled and nodded at everyone, and wandered over to the cooler to get a drink.

“The beer in that cooler is not for you, Joffrey Baratheon,”  Cersei called after him.

An awkward chuckle rippled through the group.

Rickon immediately found himself a tree to climb (one that wasn’t strung up with lights).  Bran and Meera wound up investigating Tommen’s comic book, and while they fancied themselves literary snobs, Tommen surprised them with a Neil Gaiman comic that pulled from Greek mythology.  Dany found herself discussing the party playlists with Myrcella, while Arya immediately waylaid Captain Carter to grill her about what sort of martial arts she’d learned in the RAF.  Cersei was running back and forth to the house, bringing out various foil-wrapped plates to the grill.  Catelyn tried to offer help, but to no avail, so she ended up standing next to the grill, chatting with Jaime.

“Ms. Stark,” he said, with the kind of polite that every Southern mother expected their boys to display, “I have been looking forward to meeting you for some time now.  My sister is quite fond of you and your family.”

Catelyn laughed.  “It wasn’t always that way.  But yes, I daresay we’ve become friends.”

“Good friends,” he added.  He dropped his voice and leaned in.  “You haven’t known her very long, but I’m here to tell she has a difficult time getting close to people.”

“You don’t say,” Catelyn replied evenly.

He nodded.  “This is no small thing,” he said, gesturing around at the party.  He leaned closer, and dropped his voice further, smiling warmly.  “She’s embracing you and yours, Ms. Stark, make no mistake.”

Catelyn laughed nervously, and for some reason found herself blushing at this. 

The next thing she heard was the sound of another heavy platter of food being slammed down onto the table next to the grill.  Then she felt Cersei’s hand on her arm.  “You know something, Catelyn,” Cersei said, her breath sounding a bit shallow.  “I see you’ve got no drink in your hand that will not do, it absolutely will not do.”  And before she could protest, she was whisked away to the drinks table.

Cersei gestured to the array of bottles before them.  “Wine, red or white, scotch, gin, and I should tell you I mix a mean gin gimlet, bourbon, amaretto if you care for an amaretto sour, and just about anything else you could want.”  Cersei lunged for the wine bottle then, and poured herself a large glass of red, and then stood drinking it with great commitment while Catelyn looked at the bottles, trying to decide. 

“I think I’ll just have a scotch and soda, if it’s not too much trouble,” Catelyn said a little loudly, over the thump of the Travis Tritt that Myrcella had decided to put on. 

Cersei nodded, set down her wine, and adjusted the volume on the boom box a little.  Then she set about mixing Catelyn’s drink.  “Catelyn,” she began, “you do realize that I don’t…”  She paused awkwardly for a moment.

Catelyn mercifully interrupted her.  “You don’t make pork chops that often?  So if they don’t come out well, I should blame your brother’s grilling technique?”

Cersei looked at her sidelong.  “Well, I never!” she exclaimed dryly, but a smile played on her lips.  “I should send you a peach cobbler, just for that.”

Catelyn put her hands on her hips.  “Now let’s not be too hasty.  You know where such things lead, Ms. Lannister,” she warned.

“Indeed I do, Ms. Stark.”

Talisa wandered over.  “Ms. Lannister, Catelyn,” she greeted them, smiling. “Would you look at that?” 

She thumbed over her shoulder to where Dany was trying to teach Arya, Carter and Angie to line dance. 

Catelyn and Cersei both glanced over.  Catelyn smiled.  Arya really seemed happy with that girl.  Cersei said nothing and went back to mixing Catelyn’s drink. 

“Why,” Talisa remarked, grabbing a cup and the pitcher of iced tea, “I feel downright cosmopolitan, don’t you, Cat?”

Cersei raised an eyebrow but said nothing, handing Cat her drink.  After an uncomfortable moment, she touched Catelyn’s arm and said, “You know, Catelyn, I think I could use a hand inside after all, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  


***********

  


After setting up a relatively upbeat country playlist, Myrcella had decided to wander around the party, snapping pictures.  She was, among other things, a fairly talented photography hobbyist, and had saved up several months’ worth of babysitting money to purchase a halfway decent camera. 

She sat at the drink table alone, scrolling through the snaps she’d taken thus far, and stopped.  She’d taken two shots of her mother and Mrs. Stark, standing here at the end of the drinks table.  She peered at the first for several moments, and then advanced to the next.  She flipped back and forth between them several times. 

She got up and, after considering things for a moment, wandered over to her uncle Tyrion, and tugged his girlfriend’s arm.  “Shae, can I borrow you for a second?”

Myrcella liked Shae.  Shae was smart, and understood people.  Myrcella needed a second opinion, and she wasn’t sure she trusted either of her uncles.  They split off to a corner of the yard, a few feet from where Tyrion was standing, holding forth on some subject or other, probably politics.

“What’s up?” Shae asked.

Myrcella held up the camera.  “Look at this picture and tell me if you see what I see.”

Shae glanced at it.  “It’s an ok shot.”

“And?”  Myrcella pressed.

Shae paused and looked again.  She tilted her head.  She looked at Myrcella.  “They’re looking at each other like…”  She broke off, clearly not wanting to say something she feared would be taken the wrong way.

“Yeah, it’s ok.  You can say it.  I see it too.”

“They look like they’re in love,”  Shae observed with some caution.

Myrcella released the breath she was holding.  “OK, so it’s not just me.”

Shae shook her head.  “No, it’s not.”  She thought for a minute.  “But you can’t show your mom that picture.  I don’t think she’s ready to see that shit.”

Myrcella frowned.  “So what do I do with it?”

Shae thought some more.  “Just hang onto it.  Maybe we’ll discuss it with your uncles later.”

Tyrion drifted over to them.  “Discuss what with your uncles later?” he inquired.

Shae put her hands on her hips.  “Was I talking to you?”

Tyrion put his hands up in a placating gesture.  “Just trying to help.”

“No,” Shae corrected.  “You were being nosy.”

“Guilty.”  He grinned.  “So?  What’s the story?  Show me what?”

Myrcella sighed and showed him the picture.  “Shae says I shouldn’t show Mom this picture.”

Tyrion whistled.  “Good lord,” he exclaimed.  “I had a feeling this was coming, and here it is.”

Myrcella was growing frustrated.  “What do you mean?”

“You mother has a number of unresolved issues,” he replied delicately.  “As I suspected, her feelings toward Catelyn Stark appear to be among them.”

“Are you saying she’s–”

“It’s not my place to say what she is or is not,”  he interrupted.  “What I am saying is, she clearly has feelings about this one particular person that demand consideration.”

Myrcella digested this for several minutes.  Her mother?  In love with Mrs. Stark?  It would explain why she seemed so miserable with their father.  It was still a strange thought.  But she had to wonder what her mother would be like if she were just a little less unhappy.  “So what do we do?”  Myrcella asked quietly.

“It’s quite clear,”  he answered with a smirk.  “We go talk to your Uncle Jaime, and decide amongst ourselves what exactly is the best way to meddle in this situation.”


	24. Downright Cosmopolitan

Cersei kept glancing out the window while she and Catelyn talked in the kitchen, gathering up the next round of plates that needed to go out to the grill.   


_ What is wrong with me? _  she wondered.   _ Why can’t I relax?  Why can’t I just do this?  Talisa feels “downright cosmopolitan,” what the hell is that supposed to mean? _

_ Why did I go dragging Catelyn away from my brother?  My damn brother, he was leaning too close and smiling too much, I was just rescuing her from his flirting, that’s all. _    


_ WHERE IS MY WINE? _

Catelyn set Cersei’s large, half-drunk glass of wine next to her on the counter.  “You left this outside,” she said gently.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“Say what out loud?”

“Where is my wine?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “No, I just noticed that you left it on the table so I grabbed it on the way in.  Thought you might want it.”  She moved a little closer to Cersei and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “Listen, Cersei, I hope it isn’t making you uncomfortable to have us here. I really do want us to be friends.”

Damn it.  Why was she being so gentle?  “No no, it’s fine.”

Catelyn sighed.  “Alright.  You just seem a little anxious, I hope it’s not because of us.”  She was looking at Cersei with a look of concern. 

Cersei gave her a tight smile.  “I promise, Catelyn, I am just fine.  Really.”   Her eyes caught on a wisp of Cat’s red hair that had escaped her messy updo and was curling down her cheek.  It was a lovely red, she thought, unbidden.  She shook her head to clear it.  “Let’s grab these and bring them out to Jaime.”

  
  
  


**********************

  
  


Sansa was vaguely wishing she’d found a date to bring.  She’d found Shae and Tyrion reasonably pleasant to talk to, but found herself wondering what to say after a few minutes.  Myrcella seemed busy with her camera.  She noted Joffrey, sitting by himself with a can of something, rocking back and forth on the wooden porch swing at the far end of the deck.  Sighing, she wandered down to him.  “Hey,” she said awkwardly.

He looked up.  “Hey.”

She glanced around.  The music was quieter over here.   


“Wanna sit down?” he asked after a moment.

She shrugged. “OK.”

She sat next to him and looked at the rest of their friends and family mingling the way one did at a party.  “Nice party,”  she observed after a minute.

He shrugged and sipped from the can.  She smelled beer.  “Guess so.”

“Is that beer?” she asked.

“Yeah.  You ain’t gonna tell on me, are you?”

She smiled.  “Nah.”

He held the can out to her.  “Want any?”

She looked at him for half a second, and realized that this was his way of holding out an olive branch.  “OK, sure.”  She took the can and sipped.  It was nasty.  She screwed up her nose and handed it back.

“Don’t tell me you never drank beer before.”

She smiled.  “No, never.  It’s gross.”

He smiled a little.  “Yeah.  You get used to it though.”  He drank some more and passed her the can again.   


She took it, and steeling herself for the weird, skunky taste, she took another sip and handed it back.  She managed to grimace a little less this time.

“Listen,” he said at length, after they sat watching the rest of the party in silence for a few minutes.  “I just … I don’t know what your sister told you about me, but… she’s cool.  She helped me out of a thing–”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“And… anyway… I’m sorry about the thing with your music and all that stuff I said.  Ramsey used to make me to a lot of dumb stuff.  Anyway, I just feel bad about it so…”

Joffrey trying to apologize was about the most ungainly thing she’d ever seen.  She stepped in and assured him, “Look, it’s alright.  Arya doesn’t tell me everything, but I know you did a good thing, and maybe you’re not the same as you were at the beginning of the year.”  She took the beer from him and sipped, then handed it back.  “So, it’s ok.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.  They watched Arya and Dany, Shae and Tyrion, Carter and Angie, line dancing clumsily on the deck while the food was cooking.   


“So you didn’t have a date either, huh?”  she inquired with a small smile.

“No.  My mom thinks she’s funny, she tried to joke that Arya would be my date, but that ain’t happening.”  He gestured at Arya and Dany.  “Not that I’d have wanted that anyway.”

Sansa frowned.  “Not your type?”

He hesitated.  “I don’t have a type.”

She tilted her head and looked at him.  “What do you mean?  You mean, you like everything?”

He shook his head.  “No.  I mean, I don’t like anything.”

Sansa’s heart leapt in spite of herself.  She was suddenly flooded with sympathy.  “I know exactly what you mean,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“No you don’t,” he grunted.

“No no, I do!”  she exclaimed.  “Like, you look at people, and you feel like, you  _ should _ like them, but you don’t, right?”

His eyes widened a little.  “Um… yeah, actually.  That’s… that’s exactly it.”  He leaned closer. 

Sansa shook her head.  “I don’t know what I am… I mean, I could see being with a girl, maybe, because they’re pretty and everything, but… but like.  I look at other girls I know and how they get so crazy over some boys and I don’t get it.  I can think, oh they’re good looking, but I don’t want to … you know.”

“I know!”  he responded in a hoarse, excited whisper.  “It ain’t guys, but it ain’t girls either.  I just…”  He shrugged.  “I just don’t.  And everybody thinks you’re supposed to and they get on my case about it all the time and it just sucks.”

Sansa couldn’t believe it.  Joffrey Baratheon.  Who would have ever guessed that they would have something so oddly personal in common?  They talked for a little while longer, and once the beer was finished, Sansa asked, “Hey, don’t you do archery?”

He shrugged.  “Yeah, a little.  I used to hunt with my dad.”

“Well, Snow’s girlfriend is Westeros North’s archery champ.  Let me introduce you guys.”

He hesitated as recognition dawned on his face.  “Aw, I dunno….”

But she jumped up and took hold of his arm.  “Come on!  Let’s go!”

She was always comfortable when she was doing what she was good at, bringing people together. 

  
  
  


**********

  
  


Some of the early entries were starting to come off of the barbecue:  burgers and chicken breasts were making their way around the gathering.  Cersei saw Tyrion standing with Jaime at the grill, muttering back and forth to one another, and then Tyrion, with a burger in hand, strolled over to Myrcella’s ipad and began tinkering with it.  A moment later, the country music had vanished and the air was suddenly filled with 1940’s swing music.  Robb and Talisa, and Tyrion and Shae, began to attempt some sloppy version of swing dancing that mostly involved them tripping over each other’s feet.  Bran couldn’t dance, but he encouraged Meera to grab Tommen and get to it.  The result was more like the twist than like swing dancing, but they were having fun.  Only Carter and Angie seemed to really know what they were doing.  Cersei suspected they must take some swing classes together or something, because they’d worked out who was leading and who was following and they were, she would admit through gritted teeth if asked, really ripping things up. Angie’s dress was a pretty little floral number and her loose, sandy girls bounced in a manner that was positively cinematic.

“Come on, sister dear,”  Tyrion called from the other side of the table.  “Why don’t you show us some of your moves.”

Cersei demurred, citing the need to continue retrieving things from the kitchen.   


“Shae and I will go get whatever you need,” Tyrion insisted.  “Take a break, cut a rug!”

Cersei continued to back toward the house.  “Oh, come on Tyrion, with who?”

Tyrion looked down at the ipad, fiddled a moment, and as the song ended, he jabbed a finger at it, and the opening notes of, yes, “Bosom Buddies” began to blare from the speakers.

Catelyn blushed.  “Oh, I don’t know if we’ve quite got that one together.”

“We’re all tipsy anyhow!”  Jaime called from over by the grill, where he was plucking spare ribs from the fire.  “We’ll never know the difference!”

_Of course Myrcella has this on her ipad,_ Cersei thought grumpily.   _This is what I get for making_ _her accompany me when I practice._

“Come on, mom!”  Robb urged.   


Catelyn took Cersei’s wrist.  “What the hell,” she decided wantonly.  “Why not, eh, Cersei?”

Cersei gave her a nervous smile and took her hands.  They assumed their positions, counted off together, and came in on the top of the bar.   


Catelyn’s hands were warm.  One was in hers, the other on her shoulder.  She smelled like vanilla and lemons – from her baking, Cersei wagered.  Catelyn pulled her close, and she was laughing as she said, “Let’s drop some jaws.”

They fell into step easily, despite the eyes on them.  Cersei’s nerves stopped jangling as they went through their paces, settling into the familiar, well-rehearsed pathways that had memorized this dance.  And then something strange happened.

She stopped thinking about performing.  She stopped thinking about the other people at the party entirely.  That quiet that she sometimes felt in Catelyn’s presence descended on her, the way that everyone else in the room and all the noise would fade away.  She felt them moving together, perfectly in sync, with the music faint and far away in her consciousness.  She saw the fairy lights in the trees twinkling in a cloud around Cat’s face as they spun around, dipped together, pulled apart and then drew close again.  She was sharply aware of how Catelyn felt; strong and soft, and she found herself drinking up the mirth in Cat’s blue-green eyes.  She wanted nothing more at that moment than to stare at them, the way they sparkled in the shifting light, the way they crinkled up at the corners, unabashed in their happiness.   


She felt her heart seem to stop entirely.

They reached the near-end, with the pantomime air-kisses.  A sudden impulse took hold of her, a sudden hope that one of them would miss, and that she’d feel Catelyn Stark’s lips on hers for a moment.  The thought occurred that they looked soft and inviting.

Her stomach tried to run out of her body through her feet and dash away into the sunset.

When the dance was over, everyone was politely clapping. Cat was grinning at her.  Cat released her and Cersei stumbled back a few steps.  “Oh, pardon me!” Cersei exclaimed.  “I think I’ve had a bit too much of that brandy!”

Everything blurred a bit as she ran inside and locked herself in the bathroom.  Her heart was beating again.  Her stomach was still there, but it wasn’t happy at all.  Her chest was heaving big, heavy breaths.  And she was stunned to find, after a moment, that hot tears were pouring down her cheeks.  She was trembling violently.  Her face felt like it was on fire, but her fingers were cold.  She realized that she was sobbing uncontrollably, and clenched her jaw to contain the sounds of it.

How long had this feeling been here?  Was this really what she thought it was?  What else could it be?  She had wanted that dance to keep going on and on.  She wanted to be next to Catelyn; even now, she could still feel her arms, could still smell her, could still see those crinkles around the corners of her eyes when she was smiling (those eyes – that peculiar, beautiful shade of blue-green, their long, curling red lashes…).  Her body was nigh on screaming to be close to her again.  That sudden impulse to kiss her didn’t just come from nowhere.  The entire path of their friendship scrolled rapidly through her mind;  Cat’s patience, her constant reaching out, her seeming ability to see her for who she was when few others did.  All those moments when they were together and the rest of the world seemed to fade away.  All of those times her eyes would get caught on something in Cat’s face, the incline of her head, the pulse on her neck, those times she brushed aside as meaningless.  But it did mean something after all, didn’t it.

_ But what?  What am I now, on the other side of this question? _

A soft knock at the door.  Jaime’s voice.  “Cersei, you alright in there?”

She did her best to compose herself, stood up, and opened the door.  In a shaking voice, she said quietly to him, “No, I would say I’m pretty far from alright.”

He frowned.  “What’s wrong?”

She wiped her eyes with frustration.  She couldn’t even look at him.  She was almost afraid to say it out loud, but he had loved her through a lot of stupid, awful things.  She hoped this would be no different.  “Jaime, it would appear that I am less heterosexual than I previously led myself to believe.”

Jaime looked at her without a word, and put his arms around her, and squeezed her tightly.  

She stood for a moment and let her tears leak onto his shoulder.  After a pause, she added, “And what’s worse, I do believe I’m in love with Catelyn Stark.”


	25. Like A Goddamn Ninja

Jaime explained Cersei’s extended absence by telling some cockamamie yarn about her having to take a phone call.  It worked, as far as it went.  Cersei needed a full forty five minutes to pull herself together.  And when she rejoined the party, she struggled to keep her energies at an appropriate level, instead sitting back and watching the families enjoy one another's company.  But she was still in a highly strung state.  And any time Catelyn happened to pass by her and casually tap her on the shoulder or brush her arm, it felt like the lord himself writing on her skin in flaming letters.

It was maddening, ruining. Each time it happened, she thought she was going to die.  But it was also new, delicious, this craving, these tremors that ran down her nerves every time.    


_ Is that what it's supposed to feel like to want someone? _

She wasn't quite sure how she muddled through the rest of the party but it involved a lot of wine and not much talking.  Catelyn, frustratingly, seemed bent on dropping in on her and seeking reassurance that she was alright.  Cersei kept wondering how long she had to reasonably wait before she could politely eject everyone from her home.    


When the Stark party did finally decide to depart, Cersei registered the worry in Catelyn’s look, but couldn’t begin to address it.  She was going to leave the bulk of the cleanup for tomorrow, and she was going to go inside, drink more, and weep more, and hopefully some notion of what to do next would emerge.

She was on auto-pilot for the next twenty four hours or so, as she chewed the whole thing over.  She wasn’t even ready to discuss it any further with Jaime until she had worked it out for herself.  She knew she had been obsessed with various women at various times, all, of course, with requisite “heterosexual” explanations.  She’d had friendships that had gone down in flames for no reason, because she’d pushed these women away and wasn’t sure why.  She had married Robert under some duress from her father, and been miserable, and drank too much the entire time they’d been married.  She had never, never fallen in love with a man, not even before that.  Not once.  She’d just assumed she wasn’t capable of it. And she's been right, though not for the reasons she’d thought.

And then there was Catelyn Stark.  They’d reached a point in the friendship where Cersei, in the past, would have done something destructive to kill it.  But she didn’t do that this time.  Whatever it was she felt, it was stronger than other times and she no longer had the desire or the strength to try to cut if off.  She didn’t know whether Catelyn was even available for that sort of thing, although she suspected not, since the way she talked about Ned suggested that they were really in love.  But she would at least try to get comfortable with the idea that she felt what she felt, and that maybe she could stop barking up the wrong tree with her ideas about love and relationships and everything else.

She lay in bed that night, feeling like she was in freefall, with something in her head screaming, until she fell asleep and had some vague dreams that involved Catelyn Stark, pink lemonade, and deep kisses.  She woke up in a sweat, considered masturbating (when had she last even thought about that, much less done it?), decided to pass, and rolled over and went back to sleep.  But her mind and body at this point were in full-on rebellion.

Cersei found the next day that she was beset with a sudden, burning curiosity that dogged her all day long.  If she was really signing up for this, she wanted to know exactly what she was signing up for.  The thought plagued her all day as she cleaned up in the wake of the party.  She banished the kids to friends’ houses that afternoon (she sent Joffrey to hang out with Arya Stark) so that she had the place to herself.    


Would she even be able to do this?  Was it really what she wanted?  She had some generalized notions about what all was involved but that was about as close she’d got.  It was time, she thought, for some specifics.

With a heavy sigh, she turned on the cable and entered the password that unlocked the adult section.  After paging around, she found what she was looking for.  Her heart was pounding more than she could remember it ever having done.  She pushed play, and after suffering a few minutes of bad dialogue, fast forwarded to the meat of the matter.

  
  


***********************

  
  


“C’mon, Jack, just come with me,” Jaime pleaded.

“Oh, Yank,”  she sighed.  “She doesn’t know me that well, I’m not sure I’m who she needs to see right now.  I think she needs someone she trusts, and that’s you.”

“Jack, c’mon.  I don’t know a goddamn thing about this.”

She sighed heavily.  “Alright.”

They pulled up at Cersei’s and trudged up the porch together.  Jaime could hear the television on in the living room, though he couldn’t make out what it was, so he rapped once on the screen door and then entered, as was his way.  Carter followed close behind.

He froze in the doorway to the living room.  Jack nearly crashed into him.  He felt her hand on his shoulder as she peered around him.  Playing on the television was what looked for all the world like two women having sex.  And his sister was perched on the edge of her seat, her green eyes wide, intense on the screen, clutching the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles were turning white.  _  I’m now going to back out of here quietly before she notices me and leave the way we came in, silent like a goddamn ninja,  _ he thought.

What actually happened was that he involuntarily hollered, “Holy shit!”

“Bloody christ!”  Jack added from behind him. 

Cersei jumped out of her seat, horrified.  “Goddamnit Jaime!”  She lunged for the remote and quickly flicked off the television.  “Oh, great, and  _ she’s _ here too!”

Jaime felt the pain of her embarrassment. He put his hands up in a placating gesture.  “Cersei…”

“Get OUT!” she cried, and hurled the nearest object at hand in his general direction.  It was a vase. At least, it was until it shattered against the doorway near his head.

They scampered out the front door and ran down the steps.  Jaime was half laughing, half tormented with anxiety.  “Goddamn,” he breathed, panting.

Jack was laughing.  “Captain Lannister, I’m afraid you’re rather ill-equipped for this.”

He grabbed her shoulders as if he was having an epiphany, delivered to him on a bolt of divine lightning.  “Jack, you gotta go talk to her.”

She shrugged him off of her and stared at him, incredulous.  “You’ve got to be joking.”

He thrust a thumb back toward the house.  “Well, evidently she’s got questions that  _ I SURE AS SHIT CAN’T ANSWER ‘CAUSE THIS AIN’T EXACTLY MY GODDAMN WHEELHOUSE, JACK _ .”

Carter sighed and punched him in the shoulder.  “Here I am, Yank, cleaning up your messes again.”  

  
  


*****************

  
  


Cersei  was in the kitchen, pouring herself a very, very large brandy.  She heard Captain Carter enter through the front door and heard her heavy footfalls make their way back to where she stood.  She didn’t look up, even when she felt Carter’s presence in the doorway.    


“Captain Carter, I’m afraid this isn’t a very good time.”

Carter looked at her and observed, “You planning on drinking all of that brandy yourself?”

“That’s the idea.”  She downed a long draught of it and set it down, capping the bottle and returning it to the liquor cabinet.

Carter entered the kitchen and sat down at the table.  “Your brother’s bloody hopeless about this.  Now, I know you and I don’t know each other terribly well, so, if you don’t want to talk about any of this with me, I’ll understand.  Jaime had to beg me to come back in here, truth be told, as I didn’t think this was necessarily appropriate for me to be here.  That said, if you want to talk, I’m game.  I’ve been where you are.  It isn’t any fun.”

Cersei gazed at her warily.  A beautiful, strong, openly gay woman was more than a little intimidating just now.  “It’s not necessary, Captain Carter.”

Carter gave her that high wattage smile, and cheerfully offered, “You needn’t be so formal.  If you can’t bring yourself to call me Jack, as your brother does, than Peg is just fine.  That’s the name my mum went by.”

Damn her warmth.  Damn her charm.  Damn her effortless good looks and lady-swagger and that accursed English accent.  Cersei surrendered.  “Peg,” she relented, not quite wanting to give up the distance that "Captain Carter" afforded her.  “You really don’t need to babysit me.  It was an embarrassing moment, nothing more.”

Carter looked at her, still smiling gently.  “Alright, then.  I’ll just give you one free piece of advice before I go.”  She remained seated, gazing with benign calm at Cersei, who was doing a poor job of covering up her discomfort.  “I know you probably have some questions about the mechanics and that’s probably why you were watching … what we found you watching.  But… you shouldn’t worry about that quite so much.  When you find someone you want to be with, you’ll learn each other.  Even if you’ve been with loads of women, it’s always going to be a bit different with someone new.  What you need to concern yourself with now is simply accepting yourself.  That’s your most important job just now.  Becoming comfortable with the idea that you are what you are, and that you needn’t be ashamed of it.  I’d recommend you get some therapy.  But I also recommend that you spend some time digesting the idea that this is you.  And that it’s bloody brilliant.”

Cersei stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowed, considering her.  After a long, uncomfortable pause, she asked, “Peg… would you care for a drink?”

“I’d love a brandy, if you’ve not drained the bottle.”

Cersei looked askance for a moment and then poured her one.  “Here you are.”

Peg raised it appreciatively and then sipped. 

“But how do I know?”  Cersei asked after  moment.  “How did you know?”

Peg shrugged.  “It’s different for everyone.  I knew when I was quite young.  For some people, it comes later on.  But I remember my first crushes and they were all on little girls with pretty blonde curls.”    


Cersei blushed but didn’t speak.    


“Not you, don’t worry,” Peg added with a wink.  “Your brother would have my head if the thought even crossed my mind.”

Cersei allowed herself a smirk.  “Just what sort of devil are you, Captain?”

Peg laughed.  “Oh, no you don’t.”  She set her glass down.  “Now look, it’s that Stark woman that’s done this to you, is it?”

Cersei nodded slowly.  “Jaime knows, but otherwise, you need to keep this to yourself for now because quite frankly I’ve no idea what I’ll do.”

Peg looked at her sympathetically.  “Think you’ve got a chance?”

“I haven’t the faintest but I don’t think so.”

Peg took another drink, swished it around for a moment, and  set it down.  “Well, I don’t suggest you run about waving a rainbow flag but ... Do you think you can tell her?”

Cersei shook her head vigorously.  “Absolutely not.”

“Then just … let yourself be the way you feel like being.”

“Around her, you mean?”

“Around her, as well as in general.  You’re having such a hard time now because you’ve spent years trying to force yourself into someone’s predetermined notions of how you ought to be.”

“And how ought I be?”

Peg grinned.  “However you like.  That’s the brilliant thing.”  Carter grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled down some names.  “And,” she said with a smirk as she folded it up and handed it to Cersei, “if you absolutely feel you must watch some… instructional videos… the stuff you watching was made by and for men.  These are far better choices.”

“Thank you,” Cersei said, more than a little warily, glancing at the paper and then stuffing it in her pocket.    


_ However you like.   _ She found the very idea staggering _.   _ What on earth would that look like?  How on earth would that feel?  

She was suddenly dying to find out.


	26. A Few Small Repairs

Catelyn was taking the Monday afternoon coffee she occasionally enjoyed with Selyse Florent.  She was a little distracted, truth be told, because she was fretting about the party.  Everything seemed like it had gone so well --even Sansa and Joffrey seemed to spend some time together engrossed in a very involved conversation, and Rickon had actually gotten rather attached to Cersei herself, calling her “Miss Ceecee” – and yet she’d not heard from Cersei in two days.  She didn’t want to be pushy, but she couldn’t help wondering what she’d done or said.  She hoped it wasn’t about her children and their “differentness”.

“Cat?  Hello?”  Selyse had been saying something to her and she hadn’t noticed. 

“I’m sorry,”  she apologized sheepishly.  “I was preoccupied worrying about something at the shop.  What did you say?”

“I said, I thought you might like to hear a little story about your new best friend,”  Selyse said with obvious irritation at having to repeat herself.

“Who’s that?”

Selyse scoffed.  “Why, Cersei Lannister, of course.  Nobody in town can figure out what it is with you two.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Cat demurred. 

“I know for a fact you didn’t get off on a very good foot with her.  I remember clear as day, you two had your claws out.”

“We’re friends,”  Cat responded curtly.  “We’re doing the show together.  That’s all.”

“But how?”  Selyse persisted.  “It’s hardly a secret that she’s a handful.”

“You just have to get to know her is all,” Cat answered, knowing that this was inadequate for Selyse, who was sister-in-laws with Cersei for enough years to know her.  She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to be evasive about the improbable path their friendship had taken.  “Anyway,” she said, anxious to move the conversation along, “what’s your story about Cersei?”

Selyse took a sip of coffee, apparently to wash down the canary she had swallowed.  “Well, I was at the Home School Association meeting this morning.  And let’s just say your name came up.”

“And on whose lips, may I ask?”

Selyse rolled her eyes.  “Walder Frey.”

“Why on earth did Walder Frey see fit to mention me?”

“Well, you know, we were just about wrapping up and Halys Hornwood made an offhand comment about how he was thinking about going by the Trout to get himself some of that lemonade of yours, because he forgot it was closed Monday.  And old Walder made a bit of a face, and said, it ain’t right, that Stark woman has to go ruining perfectly fine lemonade.  And you know, we all didn’t say much so he took it as license to keep on talking, like you know he does.  And he said, it’s not right, but then what do you expect from a family like that?”

She paused dramatically.  Catelyn felt the heat under her collar, despite her best efforts to stay cool in the face of this pronouncement.  “And?”

“Well, your girl Cersei stands up and demands to know just what in the hell he means by it.  And he says well look at those kids, all mixed up and confused and half of ‘em queer, and she says…”  Selyse gave another dramatic pause while she sipped her coffee.  “She says, Walder, if any of the lumpy-ass fruit of your nasty withered loins was half as kind and well-mannered as any of those Stark children, they could run for president.  Matter of fact, I ought to have Revered Sparrow saint the lot of them just on general principle.”

Catelyn’s mouth dropped open.

Selyse was beside herself with glee.  “Well, Walder says, maybe he’d consider it if you ever set foot inside his church.  And Cersei goes around the table and gets right up on him, wagging her finger in his face, and she says, My relationship with the Almighty is none of your goddamn business, Walder, but your loan applications sure as shit are, so you’ll hold your tongue about the Starks from now on when you’re in my presence, do we understand each other?”  She hooted.  “You should have seen the look on him!”

Catelyn was stunned.  Well, she supposed that answered the question of whether Cersei was uncomfortable with her and her family.  She’d just reamed the director of the HSA in their defense. 

“Now,” Selyse demanded with a pointed tone, “I have known Cersei for a very long time, and she does not give out loyalty like Halloween candy.  So you must tell me, what is it you’ve done to earn that kind of devotion from her?”

Catelyn shrugged.  “Look, I was just kind to her.  That's all.  Everyone here thinks they know who she is, so nobody gives her a chance to be anything else.”

Selyse gave her a sidelong glance, clearly unconvinced.  “I’m quite sure you’ve got something on her, Catelyn, there’s no other explanation.  Honestly, kindness?”

Catelyn nodded.  She didn’t understand why it was so hard to believe.  She rinsed her cup, and then sighed with exasperation as she noticed  the drain moving slowly again.  Again.

But suddenly, she was far less anxious about seeing Cersei at rehearsal tomorrow night.

 

****************************

 

Snow and Arya had gone to the theater straight from school, as they both had a bit of early work to do before the cast got there and started rehearsing.  When Cat arrived, the two of them were parked in the back of the theater with their respective girlfriends.  Their dogs -all four of them, since Ygritte had a very handsome hound named Orell- sat curled around their feet, occasionally nuzzling at each other.

Asha strode past.  “Oi, Starks!  Every time I turn ‘round, there’s another bloody dog in here.  I said you lot could bring yours,” she said, gesturing at Arya and Dany, “but now I’ve got you and…”  She paused, looking at Ygritte.  “Are you even on my crew?”

Ygritte shook her head apologetically.  “Sorry, miss, I was just bringing Snow and their sister a little dinner.”  She gestured at the empty Taco Bell bags in the seat next to her.  “I’ll be going.”  She moved to stand up.

Asha waved dramatically.  “It’s fine,” she grumbled, “you can stay, but you’d best not get in anyone’s way.”

“Course not, Miss,”  Ygritte drawled with a grin, and sat back down.

They turned around in time to see Cersei enter the theater with a large box of Krispy Kremes.  She started handing them out to the cast and crew who were milling around.  Catelyn was slightly stunned.  It was a very un-Cersei move, she thought.  She watched as Cersei came closer to them.  She flipped the box open and pointed.  “Catelyn?  Can I interest you in some jelly roll?”

Catelyn was about to scold her for being inappropriate but there were, in fact, three jelly rolls that had been left sitting because nobody wanted to get their hands sticky right before starting rehearsal.  She shook her head, and opted for a plain donut instead.  Ygritte, however, was under no such restriction, so she grabbed one and nodded at Cersei with a polite smile.  “Thanks, Ms. Lannister.”  Nymeria got up and nuzzled Cersei’s hand.  Cersei gave her an absent scratch as she stood making very small talk with the assembled Starks.

There seemed to be a lightness to her.  Catelyn wondered very much where it was coming from.

“ARYA STARK !”  Asha bellowed from up front.  “I NEED YOU UP IN THE BOOTH AS WE ARE GOING TO SOUNDCHECK MAN IN THE MOON NOW!  VERA CHARLES, I NEED YOU ONSTAGE AND YOU’D BETTER HAVE SAVED ME A COCONUT DONUT OR I WILL RECAST YOUR ROLE IMMEDIATELY!”

Cersei winked at them and strode quickly to the front of the theater.  She wore that red blazer that Catelyn liked, that looked so fine with her golden hair, which was hanging loose down her back.  She sat down in the row in front of her children and their girlfriends to watch.

Oberyn’s piano came rippling through the room, filling the rafters with the intro to the tune.  Cersei stood under the stage lights, which Dany had accommodatingly turned a soft blue.  Catelyn had forgotten about the auditions, they seemed like so long ago now, but she was struck again by how smooth and sweet Cersei’s voice was as she sang.  This one was really in her sweet spot and she knew it. 

 _“...The man in the moon is a lady,_  
A lady in lipstick and curls;  
The cow that jumped ovah cried,  
"Jumpin' Jehovah,  
I think it's just one of the girls..."

Catelyn sat watching her, looking at the striking figure she cut with the way she was dressed, listening to her singing in that warm, low voice.  She’d never realized how charming this song was, despite her familiarity with the show. 

 _“...She winks at the stars from her bed of green cheese,_  
That isn't a night-gown,  
It's a Saturn chemise.”

She was dimly aware of Arya and Dany up in the booth, standing beside each other, peering down into the auditorium.  She was also vaguely conscious of Snow behind her, with their head on Ygritte’s shoulder.  She realized with a small, soundless chuckle that this number probably had an unintended special resonance for the two of them.

 _“Oh, her friends are the stars and the planets,_  
She sends the Big Dipper a kiss;  
So don't ever offend her,  
Remember her gender,  
The man in the moon is a miss.”

Catelyn could already picture how nice that number was going to look with the star field sparkling on the cyclorama behind Cersei.

Asha was suitably pleased with both the sound and Cersei’s performance, and the rehearsal moved forward as normal.  At the end, Cersei came over to Cat and invited her and her children to stop by on the way home for a coffee or tea.  Catelyn sighed regretfully.  “I wish I could.  I have to go on home and wrestle with my kitchen sink, I’m afraid.”

“What’s wrong with it?”  Cersei asked, frowning.

“Slow drain.  Again.  It’s a perpetual problem, to be honest.  But this time’s worse, it’s just about stopped.” 

“Well,” Cersei said with a grin, “it so happens that I’m rather good with clogged sinks.  Why don’t I come by and give you a hand with it?”

“What, now?”  Catelyn could hardly believe that Cersei really knew her way around a clogged sink, much less that she was offering to come by now, on no notice whatsoever, to help her with it.

“Naturally.  How are you going to make breakfast tomorrow if your sink’s not working?”

She could hardly say no.  “Well, if you really do insist…”

“I do.”  Cersei was immovable.  “Just let me stop home so I can change and grab my tools.”

Was this happening?  

 

*****************************

 

Cersei had always been somewhat handy, a talent that blossomed after Robert died.  Being able to fix things around the house spared her the trouble of having to actually deal with people, she’d wryly explained to Catelyn.  Small talk with the dishwasher repairman was pretty much her definition of hell. 

When Catelyn answered the door, she found Cersei standing outside of it, dressed down quite a bit from the way she was accustomed to seeing her;  golden waves pulled back into a ponytail, beat-up black sneakers, faded jeans with threadbare knees, and a loose yellow tee shirt with the Tropicana logo on the chest.  She carried a smallish metal toolbox in one hand.

“Tropicana?” Catelyn questioned, letting her in.

Cersei shrugged.  “Leftover client swag from Tyrion.”

“A questionable choice.  I can’t promise you that one of the kids won’t try to juice you.”

Cersei looked at her with a slightly raised eyebrow.

As they walked toward the kitchen, her demure, delicate Sansa came bounding down the stairs with all the subtlety of a Great Dane.  It hadn’t escaped Cat’s notice that Sansa had developed a bit of hero-worship for Cersei; “She can sing, she’s so smart, she’s so stylish and pretty, oh my God mom, what do you mean she knows how to fix sinks too?”  Catelyn supposed she couldn’t blame her daughter. The total package was sort of impressive.

Cersei now stood in front of the sink, which was full of cloudy water; hands on hips, frowning at the metal length of kitchen snake that dangled over the side of the counter. She picked it up, tugged at a little.  “Yeah, it’s stuck, alright.”

“Can you get it out?” Sansa asked.

Cersei shrugged.  “Probably.”  She knelt down and opened the cabinets under the sink, pulling a flashlight out of her toolbox and flicking it on.  “Let’s see if we can figure out how far down it’s stuck.  Jiggle it?”

“Sorry?” Cat asked.

“The snake.  Jiggle it.”

“Oh.  Right.”  Catelyn grabbed the spool of the snake and tugged it back and forth for a few seconds while Cersei listened to it scraping around inside the pipes.

Cersei frowned.  “OK, it sounds like you’ve pushed it down past the trap.”  She leaned further into the space under the sink.

“Is that bad?” Catelyn asked.

“Well,” Cersei sighed, “it’s a drag.”

Snow appeared from the den, and after taking in the tableau for half a moment, asked, “Can I help with anything?”

“You know nothing about plumbing, Snow,” came Cersei’s voice, muffled, from underneath the sink.  Then a beat later, she softened, realizing poor Snow just wanted to help.  “I’m probably going to need a bucket, can you get me one?”

Snow scampered off to the basement.

“Jiggle it again?” she requested.

Catelyn did.

“Okay, you can stop.”

Catelyn realized she’d being doing so somewhat aimlessly, not really paying attention because her eyes had settled on the small of Cersei’s back peeking out of the space between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her jeans, and had gotten stuck there for a moment.

She thought she caught, in her peripheral vision, Sansa smirking at her. “What?” she demanded sharply.

“Nothing, nothing,” Sansa snickered.

Snow returned with a bucket. Cersei positioned it underneath the pipes. “Thank you, Snow.” She turned and looked up at Cat. “It sounds like it’s stuck all the way down in the J- pipe, so I’m going to have to take everything off,” she explained, gesturing at the pipe apparatus, “and it’s going to get very wet down here.” She paused awkwardly. “I’m definitely going to need this bucket.”

So Snow, Sansa and Cat stood around watching while Cersei, half her upper body obscured beneath the sink, wordlessly unscrewed the first pipe leading down from the drain, and then a moment later, hearing a splashing sound as the water from the sink rushed down into the bucket. “Well, your problem wasn’t in the trap,” she announced.

They heard more unscrewing, more sudden rushes of water into the bucket, more thunking and metallic clanking of pipes being taken apart and laid aside. They saw the spool of the snake bob up and down a bit while Cersei was reckoning with its business end under the sink, and then the long, metal strip zipped back up through the pipes and onto the spool.

Sansa, Catelyn and Snow reflexively applauded.

“Well, let’s not start slapping me on the ass just yet,” Cersei remarked dryly from below. “The problem was in your J-pipe, but I don’t what the hell this is…. It looks like…. A clump of chewed-up rubber or something. I’m going to screw the rest of the pipes back together, and then see about clearing this out. Can you go into my box, Cat, and grab me the plumbers tape?”

Cat popped open the red toolbox and poked around inside. She didn’t find anything that looked like tape.

“I must have left it on the front seat of the car,” Cersei grumbled.

“I’ll get it,” Cat said, and ran out to Cersei’s Range Rover to find it.

“What do you need tape for?” Snow asked as Cersei chunked and banged away beneath the sink.

“It’s not regular tape,” she answered patiently, “It’s more like thin strips of putty that you need to create the seal between the pipes. Now…”

At this moment, Rickon blew into the kitchen like a tornado, his hands covered in god knew what, and, completely oblivious to the fact of there being a entire person sticking out from under the sink, he lunged for the faucet to clean his sticky little paws.

“RICKON, NOOOOOO!!” Sansa and Snow cried in unison, but they weren’t fast enough to stop him from flipping the faucet on, and dousing poor Cersei who was directly in the path of the pipe. Snow grabbed him and pulled him away from the sink, and Sansa Turned off the water, but they were too late.

They heard a loud shriek and a string of curses from beneath the sink, and a moment later, Cersei crawled out…. She was soaked from her head almost down to her waist, and she got to her feet, looking madder than a wet cat and ready to tear someone a new orifice. When Rickon saw her, his face lit up, and he ran over and flung his arms around her. “Miss Ceeceee!!” he shouted happily, completely unconcerned with the fact that she was sopping wet. “Mom didn’t tell me you were coming over!"

Cersei’s scowl slunk off of her face, and she gave his hair an awkward tousle. “Rickon, you got me all wet.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t knew you was under there.”

“And *you’re* going to get all wet if you keep hugging me,” she added sternly.

“I don’t care,” he replied, burrowing his cheek into her wet stomach.

She picked him up and squeezed him until he was almost as soaked as she was, then set him back on his feet. She looked down at him, and a spark of mischief crept into her eye. “You know, little wolf, who could use a wet hug? Snow!”

“WET HUGS!!!” Rickon howled with glee, and he charged at Snow, tackling them.

Cersei’s eyes lit on Sansa, now. “I could use a towel,” she began with playful menace. She advanced on her.

Sansa started backing away as Cersei started wringing water out of her shirt and flicking it at Sansa.

“Stop!” Sansa shrieked, laughing.

“Hey Rickon,” Cersei called out. “Do you think Sansa needs a hug?”

Rickon nodded.

Just then, Catelyn returned with the roll of plumber's tape. “WET HUGS!!!” Rickon howled again, charging at his mother.

“What the-?” She shifted her weight in order to not get bowled over by him, and then she felt his wet shirt. She looked around the room at her laughing children, all of whom were varying degrees of damp. She had to admit, it warmed her to see them laughing and joshing about. “God, I leave the room for two minutes and all hell breaks loose! Christ, Cersei, what did you do to my kids?”

Cersei, by far the wettest of them, grinned, shrugging. “Rickon’s fault,” she replied casually, trying to act as if her breath weren’t a little shallow.

Her blond hair was sticking to her face, her yellow t-shirt was sticking to her…. _Well, anyway,_ Catelyn thought, and forced her eyes back up to Cersei’s face, which was beaming. She’d always acknowledged that Cersei was a good looking woman, but seeing her looking so warm and relaxed, dear Lord, seeing a *playful* side… She shook her head, smiling, and asked, “Do you need to borrow a shirt?”

Cersei’s mouth twitched. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” she intoned theatrically. “A little played out, don’t you think?”

Catelyn rolled her eyes. “To hell with you, then. Stay in your dripping wet shirt.”

Sansa snickered again.

Cat blushed and gave her a sharp look. “What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” she answered, clearly repressing a giggle. She waved to Snow and Rickon. ” Come on, guys. Dry clothes for everyone. Except Cersei. See you in a bit, Mom.” She tossed a knowing look over her shoulder as they paraded out of the kitchen.

They were left in the kitchen, smiling stupidly at each other. “Looks like Rickon tagged you too,” Cersei noted, nodding at a damp spot on Catelyn’s sweater.

“Yes,” she realized. “But you got more than tagged,” she remarked, taking in just how drenched Cersei had actually gotten. “You’re really wet. I mean, soaked. I really do need to loan you a shirt.”

Cersei’s look turned slightly naughty. “I’d really appreciate that… So much, in fact, that I need to give you A BIG HUG!!”

Catelyn struggled half-heartedly against Cersei’s damp bear hug, yelping a little and complaining, “You idiot, I’m going to smack you.”

 _She smells good though,_ came the unbidden thought into her mind, _what is that perfume?_ And then, _Hell, why fight it, it's the most action I've gotten in years._ She pretended not to be alarmed by that thought. _  
_

But after a moment, Cersei let go of her. Cat looked down at her sweater, which was now considerably more damp than before. “Ugh. I’m almost as wet as you now,” she complained, even though, strangely, she wasn’t actually very upset at all.

Cersei stood looking at her as if she was waiting for something.

“Alright. Dry shirts,” Cat declared. “Let’s go.” 

She loaned Cersei a blouse and made it a point to hug her several times more before she departed.   _She smells good.  She feels good,_ she thought as she watched her head down the driveway to her car.   _Maybe I should hug her again before she goes.  No, probably not._

_Lord have mercy, what is happening to me?_


	27. There's Nothing For It

It was late by the time Catelyn had finished cleaning up the kitchen.  She was barely present for the comings and goings of her various children, though at one point she finally did have to interrupt her reverie to intervene in a shouting match between Rickon and Bran over control of the television remote before hustling everyone off to bed. 

These were old feelings, that had woken up in her chest tonight.  She hadn’t been with a woman since college, since Gail Abernathy, the out-of-control blonde with the angelic voice and the wild spark in her eye.  She hadn’t specifically missed it; when she and Ned fell for each other, it had felt right.  They belonged together.  He was serious and gentle and stubbornly honorable, and she’d loved him with every ounce of herself.  And then after his death, she had just focused on holding the fort.  She hadn’t even looked at anyone with a twinkle in her eye, much less dated.  It had been a long time.

And now here she was, feeling a stir of something.  Of course it would be Cersei.  Beautiful, damaged, unavailable Cersei.  Flawed, passionate, proud Cersei.  By all indications, utterly heterosexual Cersei.  Cat shook her head.  While it appeared from Selyse’s telling that she in fact wasn’t as homophobic as Catelyn had initially supposed, there was no indication that she would be interested in anything other than friendship.

Maybe, she thought, it was just proximity.  All of a sudden finding herself spending a lot of time around a beautiful woman, maybe she was just getting her feelings a little muddled.  Or maybe she wasn’t.  Maybe she was feeling something for Cersei Lannister, but goddamnit, she didn’t suppose her odds were very good.   _I should put this out of my mind._

But she couldn’t stop remembering Cersei’s voice when she sang.  She kept thinking back to their dance at the party, how warm and easy it had felt.  She kept thinking of the way she looked dressed up and polished, and of the way she looked when she showed up to fix the sink, dressed down, carrying a toolbox.   _Women who know how to use tools always did ring my bell,_ she mused.

“Catelyn Tully Stark,” she groaned quietly to herself, “what are you going to do with this?”

  
  


*************************

  


Sansa conferred with Arya and Robb, back in Robb and Snow’s cottage out back.  “You didn’t see them,” she was insisting.  “You didn’t see how Mom kept looking at her.”

“So your evil plan is coming to fruition, huh?”  Robb teased.

Sansa folded her arms.

“You just want them to hook up so you can borrow Cersei’s clothes,”  Arya teased.

Sansa was mildly offended.  “I’m telling you.  All Mom needs is a little push.  I totally busted her staring at Cersei’s ass.”

Arya snorted.  “Whatever.  Let’s say you’re right.  What do we do?  How do we know Cersei even feels the same way?”

Robb considered them both for a moment.  “What if you just put it to her?”

Sansa and Arya both looked at him as if he had three heads.  “All these years and we never even knew Mom had girlfriends in college,”  Sansa objected.  “I don’t think she’d appreciate us snooping like that, and I don’t think she’d … you know… I don’t think she’d listen to us about that kind of thing anyway.”

They sat thinking for a few more minutes while the dogs yapped at each other outside in the yard.  Then Sansa got an idea.   

  


********************

  


Myrcella sat with her uncles at the kitchen table while her mother was out at rehearsal.  “Look,”  she began, thinking aloud as she went, “do you guys really think that Mom feels this way?”

Jaime nodded quietly.  “I’ve always thought so.  But you know your mother.  If she doesn’t want to talk about something, you don’t get it out of her.”

Myrcella looked at her other uncle.  “Uncle Tyrion?  What about you?”

Tyrion scratched his beard.  “I agree with your Uncle Jaime.  I think there are a lot of reasons why it’s taken her this long to figure it out.  The way your grandfather is, for starters.”

Myrcella frowned.  Grandpa Tywin was certainly an imposing figure, but she didn’t understand what the connection was.  “OK, but… what about Catelyn Stark?  Do you really think she’s in love with her or… or whatever?”

“You’re the one who took that picture and saw fit to show it to us,”  Tyrion reminded her.  “You obviously saw something.”

“Well, yeah.  But… do you think it’s … it goes both directions?”

Jaime shrugged.  “Can’t say as I know for sure, but I guess it’s possible.”

“I want her to be happy.  I feel like I never see her happy.” 

Tyrion turned to Jaime.  “Well, shall we meddle some more?”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully.  “Yeah.  In fact, I have an idea.”

  
  


*****************************

 

Oberyn sat chuckling to himself.  He’d just gotten off the phone with his old acquaintance, Jaime Lannister, who was calling to inquire, rather unsubtly, as to how well he knew Catelyn Stark, and did Oberyn suppose that she could use some cheering up this week perhaps, with some flowers from a secret admirer.

Not five minutes after that, he’d gotten a call from Catelyn Stark’s eldest son Robb, wondering whether he knew Cersei Lannister’s favorite flower because he had a notion to send some flowers to thank her for the lovely cookout that she’d hosted for them this weekend.

“From you, or from your mother?” Oberyn asked, chuckling.

“Well, maybe just sign it from a secret admirer.  You know, as a … a joke,”  Robb answered awkwardly.

Oberyn could barely contain himself.  This was out of his hands.  Fate was taking over.  This meddling was becoming a community effort.  He told both Jaime and Robb that he happened to know just the person to speak to about those flowers and that they’d be glad to take care of it as a favor.  In fact, he’d see to it personally.

  


*****************

  


Olenna Tyrell was pleased with her grandchildren.  Her son Mace had the brains of a bowl of oatmeal, so she’d shunted him off a seat in the State Assembly as soon as her grandchildren were of age to handle things on the farm and in the shop.  Her Margaery knew how to do business and Loras, bless his little gay heart, was gifted in the fields.  Tyrell Farms & Floral had some of the most beautiful rose bushes for miles.  Voted best in the county nearly every year by the County Tribune, matter of fact.  Of course, Olenna’s long-standing friendship with one Catherine Jane Grant, CEO of the Trib’s parent company, probably didn’t hurt much.  Olenna Tyrell was a lady who lunched, and she did so with laser-like strategic precision.

Tywin Lannister was forever trying to buy that back twenty acres of the farm, but she’d never sell.  Westeros had enough eyesore strip malls and McMansions, and god knew the Tyrells didn’t need the money.  She had to admit though, she vaguely admired the old man’s craftiness and persistence. 

She hobbled into the smallest greenhouse in the back of the shop, where Margaery was going about her business with an assortment of absolutely flawless pot plants sporting impressively large, sticky buds that burst with red hairs.

“You need to put a plastic bag over this one,” Olenna observed grumpily, fingering the leaves of the plant in front of her.  Sun poured through the glass of the greenhouse and warmed her back.  Margaery popped up from underneath the workbench, her face smudged with dirt. 

“Why?”

Olenna snorted.  “You’ve got a Snow Stark plant, here, my dear.”

Margaery gave her grandmother a quizzical look.  “It knows nothing?”

“No,” Olenna sighed, mildly irritated.  “It’s not quite a male and it’s not quite a female.  It’s got buds, yes, but…. Look, it’s developing pollen sacs.  It’s going to seed all your females if you don’t get it out of here.”

Margaery looked at the tender little pot plant, which she had been assuming this whole time was a female, and saw that her grandmother was right.  She found a plastic bag and with utmost care and caution, slipped it down it over the plant, to remove it to a different greenhouse.

“A marijuana plant without THC is as useless as tits on a fish,” she finished, as Margaery tied an elastic around the bottom of the plant and set it near the door.

“Now, I’ve just got a phone call from Oberyn Martell, and I need you to take care of something for me.  I need you to send a bouquet to Catelyn Stark, and one to Cersei Lannister.  I believe you’ve already taken care of them several times, so I’ll trust you to pick them out.”

Margaery looked quizzically at her grandmother.  “Some sort of leading lady gifts?”

Olenna snorted.  “Nothing of the kind.  Oberyn’s up to some jackassery and I want no part of it but I do like watching him walk away, so I suppose there’s nothing for it.” 

Margaery chuckled.  “Alright.  You want some cards?”

Olenna nodded.  “I need ‘em both to read ‘From Your Secret Admirer.’”

Margaery gaped at her grandmother.  “Just what sort of jackassery _is_ he up to?”

Olenna shrugged.  “He called on me for a favor, so these two boneheaded women are receiving flowers.  The less I know, the better.  I suspect he’s trying to get them together.”

“But Ms. Lannister doesn’t … play for that team, does she?”

Olenna waved a hand.  “None of my business if she does.  Could be.  Now tell me, what will you send?”

“Hmm….I’ve got orange and yellow alstromeria that would be awfully nice for Ms. Lannister, and I do recall Catelyn Stark being partial to lilies.”  She nodded, confirming her own thought process. “Do you think it’s going to work?”

“Well, it’d probably work better if you sent them some of _these_ flowers,” Olenna replied, gesturing to the room full of budding female pot plants.  She knew the seed that these plants came from and knew that they would develop into lovely, dense buds with red hairs and crystals forming on them, remarkably potent and producing a strong, but not debilitating high that could also result in increased blood flow to certain areas of the body.  “But regrettably, neither of them strikes me as the type.”

Margaery smirked.  “The type who needs arthritis treatment?”

“Just so,” Olenna responded, almost proud of her granddaughter.  “Now, I’ve got to go finish Vera’s dress for ‘The Man in the Moon is a Lady.’  Give your grandma something lovely to take with her.”

Margaery produced a plastic bag with a brick of sticky, fragrant bud, popped it into Olenna’s purse, and gave her a peck on the cheek.  “Here you go, Grandma.  Best of the batch.”

“There’s a good girl,” Olenna said, patting Margaery’s shoulder.  She hobbled away, rubbing the outside of her purse, looking forward to this evening’s arthritis treatment, accompanied by a few episodes of Absolutely Fabulous.  


	28. Nothing But the Devil

Olenna Tyrell did finish those dresses, and imperiously informed Asha, Oberyn and company when she arrived at the next rehearsal that they were her magnum opus. It wasn’t an official dress rehearsal, per se, but she came bearing the outfits for the “Bosom Buddies” number and she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to see the two women run it once wearing them.  If there were going to be alterations needed, this was the only way to know.    


The cuts of the dresses were proper vintage cuts, alright.  She’d opted for a period-incorrect material that would shimmer and catch the light better, but nevertheless, the craft involved was utterly flawless.  Catelyn could hardly believe that with her arthritis, she was still able to produce such excellent work, but they were shuffled off to the costume closet (no one dared say anything but yes to Olenna) to change into them.    


They turned their backs on each other and silently slipped out of their street clothes, leaving twin piles of jeans and thin blouses on the table at the back, and then carefully slipped the dresses on.  Both zipped up the back, as it turned out.

“Zip me?” Cersei requested over her shoulder.

Catelyn turned around and saw the dress hanging open over Cersei’s back, and absurdly, ridiculously, her heart felt like it skipped a beat.  “Of course.”  She tugged the zipper up, watching her spine and shoulder blades vanish beneath the shiny red fabric.  “I’ll need you to return the favor of course,” she added.  And she turned around.

Cersei’s hands were warm on her back as she pulled the zipper closed, and she felt almost ticklish when her fingers tucked an errant bra strap underneath the neckline of the dress.    


“Thanks,” she said, trying not to sound sheepish.  She turned around.

Cersei’s medium-length cocktail dress was a shimmering garnet color, with ruching at the rather narrow waist (accentuated by sharp shoulder pads, of course), and long sleeves that ballooned at the shoulder and then tapered down her arm to the wrist.  Even under crappy fluorescent lights, Catelyn had to admit it was breathtaking.  “That’s… that’s a really beautiful dress,” she commented after a very long moment.  She immediately felt stupid, as though she could have come up with something better to say.

But Cersei was busy admiring Catelyn’s dress, a silky blue gown of similar length to her own, but with a cross-wrapped neck and tiered skirt.  “That skirt is going to do nice sort of splashy things around your legs when you dance,” she noted with some envy.

Olenna’s head popped in.  “Oh, I nearly forgot these!”  She tossed two pairs of butterfly heels with ankle straps into the room, along with two piles of … something gauzy?  Silky?  With elastics and clasps, and…?  Before they could ask any questions, the door slammed shut again.

Catelyn retrieved the bundle, quickly checking the sizes on the shoes and handing Cersei the pair meant for her.  Then she unraveled the two bundles and with some trepidation, realized what they were.  Two pairs of silk dress gloves, and… two pairs of vintage stockings with the seam meant to run up the back…. along with…. horrors!... garter belts.

She parceled out the rest of what was there and tried to get her own stockings happening without feeling too self conscious about it.  But when she turned around, Cersei had her skirt hitched up, foot up on a chair, and was wrangling with the stockings with little success.  She hadn’t quite sorted out the clasps to attach the stocking to the garter belt.  With her brow furrowed, she stood fumbling with it for a moment, till she realized Catelyn was looking at her, and flushed almost as red as her gown.  “I’ve never worn these,” she said miserably, “have you?”

Catelyn nodded with a small smirk.  Cersei Lannister, blushing.  Who'd have ever thought it possible?  Cat tried without success to ignore how exquisite she looked with that little flush to her cheeks.  “Only recreationally, but yes.”  She stepped a bit closer.  “Can I help you?”

Cersei hesitated and then nodded.  Catelyn’s fingers took hold of the elastic, snapped open the clasp with her thumb, and pulled the top of the stocking gently up Cersei’s thigh, making sure not to pull too hard and tear it.  She tried to minimize the extent to which her fingers brushed against Cersei’s skin, but there was little hope of avoiding it.  She sighed, then popped the clasp on.  Cersei seemed to be holding her breath.

“Did you see how I did it?” Catelyn asked hopefully.  “Can you get the others yourself?”

Cersei hesitated again.  “I think so,” she said, her voice sounding a little ragged.  After she’d put herself together and they’d both slipped into the heels, they sauntered outside and Cersei regained her composure.  “What do you mean, recreationally?” she demanded suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Back there you'd said you'd only worn them recreationally, what did you mean?”

Catelyn pouted a little.  “Oh, nothing.”

Cersei punched her shoulder.  “Oh no you don’t!  Oh nothing?  Fuck you if you think you’re going to drop something like that and not explain, Catelyn Stark.”

“I was with someone for a while who liked lingerie,” Catelyn answered breezily.

Cersei’s eyebrow lifted.  “Really,” she remarked, impressed.  “Not Ned, surely?”

Catelyn laughed.  “No, not Ned.  Before Ned.  They liked stockings and silky lingerie and whatnot.”    


Cersei clapped softly in her silk gloves.  “Bravo, Catelyn.  I didn’t realize you had it in you.”

Catelyn found herself oddly full of pride about it, that rose up warm in her chest when she answered,  “There’s a lot about me you probably would be surprised about.”

They continued down the hallway toward the stage, the sounds of power drilling and Snow’s cursing becoming louder as they walked.

“Well, same goes double for me,” Cersei answered, not wanting to be outdone.

“Nothing surprises me,” Catelyn responded.

“People say that often,” Cersei answered, “but then something or someone will do just that.”

More clattering.  More power drilling.  More Snow cursing.

“And that someone or something would be you, is that what you’re saying?” Catelyn challenged.

They came upon Snow, struggling with putting casters onto the bottom of Mame’s couch for the 1950s scene.    


Cersei caught sight of what they were doing, and marched up to them.  She carefully peeled off one of her silk gloves as she walked, and by the time she reached where they were standing, she had a bare hand to hold out to them.  “Snow, give me the drill,” she said, with a tone of studied boredom.

They looked up, their dark curls falling into their eyes.  “What?”

“Give me the drill,” she repeated.

Snow passed her the drill.    


She held it up.  “Screw.”

“What?”

“Let me see the screw you’re using.”

They passed her a screw.

She held it up to the light and then looked again at the drill.  “The bit is the same size as the screw.  You need to go smaller on the bit, that’s why your screws aren’t staying in.  Go ask Gendry for a smaller bit, or bigger screws.”

She handed the drill back to Snow, slipped the glove back on, and sashayed off toward the stage, tossing a look over her shoulder at a flabbergasted Catelyn.  “Are you coming, Catelyn, or should I tell Asha and Olenna you’re helping Snow put casters on a couch?”

_ Women and power tools,  _ Catelyn thought again, her stomach fluttering.  She watched the switch of Cersei’s hips as she walked away, trying not to keep picturing her standing there in her red silk dress and gloves, holding that power drill.   _  Lord, I am a good woman but if this is a test, then it is a patently unfair one.  I’ve got nothing but the devil in me right now. _


	29. A Trick of the Light

Catelyn’s phone rang while she was behind the counter at the Trout.  It was Cersei.  She must be calling to explain this absurd delivery of calla lilies with this ridiculous card, “From Your Secret Admirer.”  She picked up.

“Ms. Lannister,” she answered in a formal tone.

“Ms. Stark,”  came the terse reply.

“Is there something you would like to tell me?”

“I was about to ask you the same.”

“Well,” Catelyn replied irritably, “I have nothing to tell you but I do wonder what you’re up to.  I thought we were past this.”

A pause.  “I was about to ask you the same, actually.”

Well, that wasn’t quite what she expected.  “What on earth are you talking about?”

“This floral arrangement!  Alstromeria.  From my so-called secret admirer!”

Catelyn paused, her eyes narrowing.  “What are you playing at, Cersei?  I’ve received an arrangement of lilies, from my own secret admirer.”

The energy changed.  Catelyn could feel Cersei pivot, even over the phone.  “Well, isn’t that just the … Hmph.  Do you suppose someone’s having a bit of fun with us?”

“Both of us?”  Cat was incredulous.  “Why would someone do that?”

Cersei sighed.  “Who knows?”

“Where’d yours come from?”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

Cat shook her head.  “No, no. I mean, what florist?”

“Oh.”  A pause, while she checked.  “Tyrell’s.”

“Mine too.”

“Well,”  Cersei suggested, “what do you say, Cat, instead of our usual lunch, we go and pay a little visit to Margy?”

“I think that’s a lovely idea.”

  
  
  


*******

  
  


Margaery Tyrell stood, smiling her patented sparkly smile, glancing back and forth between the two women in front of her.  “Now come on, ladies,” she said, with entirely too much flirtation in her voice for Cersei’s liking, “surely you wouldn’t want to ask me to betray my customer’s confidence?”

Cersei put her hands on her hips.  “I’m not aware of any established precedent for florist/client privilege.”

Margaery continued smiling.  She inclined her head a little, and gave them a sly smile, and said, “Oh, it’s more of a nicety than a privilege.  Besides, one day, one of you two might get a notion to send some flowers in secret and you sure wouldn’t want me to give y’all up, would you?”

Cersei fumed.  They would get nowhere with Margaery.  She shook a finger at her.  “I’m going to find out who you’re protecting, Margaery,”  she warned.  And then she and Cat marched out together.

Catelyn wagered, “Olenna knows, I’ll bet.”

“Would you like to face Olenna?  I saw her lunching with Cat Grant at Dufresne on my way over, I bet you we could still catch her.”

“Oh, dear God.  Olenna Tyrell  _ and _ Catherine Grant?  I’m not sure I have the stomach for that today.”

  
  


*******

  
  


As it happened, they were lucky (or unlucky, depending on one’s point of view) and caught Olenna as she was exiting the bistro with the newspaper mogul.  “Olenna,”  Cersei called briskly, and marched right up to her.

Olenna looked between her and Catelyn for a moment.  “I don’t have your other dresses yet,” she said grumpily.

“That’s not why we’re here,”  Catelyn replied.

Cat Grant, the extremely fashionably-dressed blonde, stood a few feet back, observing the spectacle.  “Olenna, don’t tell me you’re still making dresses for the theater?” she inquired.

“Course I am, Grant.  Till my damn hands fall off, as if you didn’t know.”  OIenna looked back at the two women.  “Well?  Out with it.”

Cersei hesitated for just a split second, and then plunged in.  “Just what did you have to do with the secret admirer bouquets that were sent to both myself and Catelyn?”

Olenna harrumphed.  “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you mean to tell me you don’t know everything that goes on in that shop?” Catelyn demanded.

“It’s Margaery’s show, has been for two years,” Olenna sniffed.  “I can’t possibly be bothered with every damn bouquet that gets sent out.”

“Was it Walder Frey?  Oberyn?  One of our children?  Who?”  Cersei pressed.  “We’re not leaving till we get an answer.”

“Well then,” Olenna replied breezily.  “You can enjoy standing here all day, because I’m going to the country club to get properly liquored up and pretend to play a few holes.”  She glanced over her shoulder.  “Grant, where’s your car?”

The blonde held up a delicate hand, dangling a Mercedes key from her manicured finger.  “Just over there.”

Olenna’s wizened eyes smiled at them from beneath the brim of her Chanel hat.  “You take good care now, you two.”  And she strode off, keeping pace with the tiny blond firecracker she’d arrived with.

Thwarted, Catelyn and Cersei surrendered, and went for some quick sandwiches at the corner shop before returning to work.

  
  


*****************

  
  


Myrcella sat staring at the picture of her mother and Mrs. Stark.  The bouquet plan had been a disaster, since Oberyn had also apparently sent flowers to both of them and it came off like a dumb prank.  Her mother couldn’t stop ranting about it.  Maybe she should show the picture to Sansa Stark.  They had orchestra together.  She seemed smart and reasonable.  Maybe they could take matters into their own hands.

Joffrey came up behind her as she was sitting at the kitchen table, allegedly doing her homework.  “What picture is that?” he asked. 

She considered hiding it, but then she thought, why?  He’d stopped being such a jerk lately.  She turned the camera so he could see it.

He looked at it a minute.  “Is that one of those photography tricks?”

“What, like a trick of the light?”

“No. You snap at a moment where it looks like something is happening that isn’t?”

“No, it’s the other kind.  The kind where a snap shows something you didn’t notice at the time.”

He nodded slowly.  “You gonna say anything?”

Myrcella shrugged.   “I dunno.  Uncle Jaime said Mom told him she thinks she… likes Mrs. Stark.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute.  “Like that?”

She nodded.   


“Well, what about Mrs. Stark?  Think she’s… the same?”

Myrcella shrugged.  “You could ask Arya?”

Joffrey snorted.  “Hey Arya, is your mom a lesbo?  And then she pounds my ass.”

Myrcella sighed.  “I’m pretty sure that’s not the polite word.”

Joffrey shrugged.  “Whatever.”

Myrcella studied him for a minute.  “Look… What do you think?  Like, say it happened, how would you feel?”

Joffrey didn't speak for a minute.  “I think,” he said cautiously after a long minute, “it's ok.  What do you think?”

“I think I don't remember a time when she seemed really happy.”

He nodded.  “Everybody expects you to be one kind of way, and maybe you're another kind of way, I guess you're gonna get real tired after a while.”

Myrcella gave him a look of mild surprise.  It was an obvious notion but it surprised her that he would have even that simple insight.  “Will you talk to Arya?”

He nodded. “I need to figure out how, but, yeah.”

  
  


*******

  
  


Arya’s phone rang.  She was doing homework at Dany’s, which consisted mostly of making out for a few minutes, then stopping, remembering they were supposed to be doing homework, doing a little homework, and then making out for a few minutes more.  She sighed, took her hand out from under the back of Dany’s shirt, and looked at her phone.  It was Joffrey.

_ Why does he always call when I’m getting some action? _

She picked up.  “What’s up, Baratheon?”

“I gotta ask you something, man.”

“You have really bad timing, anybody ever tell you that?”

“It’s important.”

She sighed.  “What?”

“Look, I don’t know how to ask you this.  I don’t think it’ll offend you, seeing as you got a girlfriend or whatever now, but… is your mom… you know… like you?”

Arya snorted.  “What?  Why would you ask me that?”

He sighed.  “Look, I just… I’m trying to help my mom, ok?  She told my uncle that she likes your mom… you know… like that.  So.  You need to tell me, man to man.  Does she have a chance?”

Arya’s mouth dropped open and she sat there frozen in shock for a few minutes.    


“Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m here.  I just… this is literally the last thing I expected.”

“Ok, well?”

He was serious.  Arya couldn’t believe it.  “Well… Sansa is convinced that my mom likes your mom but doesn’t think she has a shot ‘cause as far as anyone knows, your mom isn’t into girls.”

Joffrey sighed.  “Well, I didn’t know she was either.  But I guess Myrcella took a picture at the cookout and … well, it’s all over their faces.  Both of ‘em.  I just… wanted to be sure.”

Arya sighed.  “OK, well, what if it happens?  Are you cool with that?”

Joffrey chuckled.  “Myrcella asked me the same thing.  What is it with you guys?  Think I can’t handle some queer stuff?”

Arya bit back a groan.  “Yeah, do me a favor, just… just say gay, alright? I don’t think you and me are good enough friends for you to be throwing around the Q word with me just yet.”

“Whatever.”  He paused.  “Sorry.  So are you gonna tell your mom?”

“I don’t know.  But… well, just so you know, my mom dated girls in college, before she met our dad.  So, it’s not the craziest thing.”

“So, why don’t you tell her my mom likes her?”

Arya thought for a minute.  “No, I don’t think so.  Number one, she doesn’t know we know about her college girlfriend.  Number two, I think she’d be afraid to take a chance on someone who’s been in the closet for twenty five years or whatever.  If this is gonna happen, man, it has to come from your mom.”  After a moment, she added, “I always talk to my mom about serious stuff while she’s cleaning up after dinner.  I help with the dishes or something.  She listens more when I do that,” Arya offered helpfully.

A long pause while Joffrey thought it over.  “OK.  I’ll call you after I figure out what to do.”

  
  
  


***************

  
  


Cersei was cleaning up after dinner when Joffrey came shuffling in, looked at her, and after an awkward moment asked, “Do you, uh… need help with the dishes or something?”

Cersei nearly dropped the large serving spoon she was rinsing.  “Joffrey Baratheon, did you just… did you just offer to help me with the dishes?”

He nodded. “Or you know… whatever.”

She handed him a sponge and said, “Alright, here.  Wipe the counters down.”  An awkward beat of silence.  “Thank you.”

"So did you and Mrs. Stark figure out who sent y'all those flowers?"

"No."

After a few minutes of silence, filled with running water and soft splashing sounds, and Joffrey scrubbing at something brown and sticky on the counter, he finally said, “Listen, Mom.  I gotta tell you something.”

Cersei sighed.  “Oh, here it comes.  I knew this was too good to be true.  What kind of trouble are you in now?”

He shook his head, not looking up.  “It ain’t like that.”

She stopped washing the dishes, and folded her arms.  “Alright, then.  What is it?”

He continued scrubbing.  “Mom, I … you know how you keep teasing me about Arya Stark, or you did, till you figured out she had a girlfriend?”

“Mm.”

“Well, the thing is, even if she didn’t have one, I wouldn’t want to go out with her.  I don’t feel that way about her.”

Cersei tilted her head to the side and looked at him curiously, but let him continue.

“Now, I ain’t gay,” he assured her, “but I ain’t like most people are, either.  When  Ramsey wanted me to take advantage of that girl at the party, it made me sick, and not just because what he was doing wasn’t okay.  I also … just … I don’t want that.  Not with anybody.  Maybe that’ll change, but right now, I just… I’m not like most people are, I guess.”

Cersei’s heart squeezed in on itself.  “That’s alright, Joffrey.  You’re my son.  I don’t care if you like boys or girls or both or nobody at all, you know I will defend you to the death.”

He held up a hand.  “I’m not done, Mom.”

She took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry.  Go on.”

He put the sponge down and looked at her.  “We’re family.  We stick by each other, right?  All the times I been in trouble and you always stuck up for me.  Well, I’m gonna do that for you, too.”

She frowned.  What was he getting at?

“Mom, I know about … what you told Uncle Jaime at the cookout.”

Cersei froze.  Jaime had spilled the damn beans, that son of a bitch.

“But before you get mad at him, it wasn’t him that told me.  It was Myrcella.”  He looked around the kitchen, and saw Myrcella’s camera sitting on the table.  He walked over, powered it on, and during an uncomfortable silence, flipped through its contents until he found the picture she’d taken.  “She took this picture, and she showed it to Uncle Jaime, and that’s when he told her.”

Cersei took the camera from his hands and looked at the picture.  She was looking at Catelyn so lovingly, she looked so happy, she barely recognized herself.  What was more, Catelyn was looking at her the same way.  She covered her mouth with her hand.  “Lord have mercy,” she whispered.

She put the camera down, paced over to the window, uncovered her mouth, whispered, “Lord have mercy,” again, and paced back over to the table.    


“Mom,” he said quietly.  “You don’t have to be like everyone thinks you gotta.  I’m not like everyone else either.  It’s okay, you know?”

Cersei looked at the picture again.  Her heart raced.  The two women in that picture, that was what she wanted.  That was who she wanted to be, and she wanted to be that, with Catelyn.  She knew it now, like she knew her own name.  Myrcella had been smart to keep the picture to herself till now, because Cersei knew she had needed time to get used to the idea that she felt the way she did.  But there was no point denying it.

“Oh, Joffrey,” she sighed.    


“It ain’t just you,” he told her after a moment.

She looked sharply at him.  “What?”

He nodded.  “Arya told me.  Her mom went with girls in college.  Arya and her sister found out by accident.  And they’re pretty sure she likes you, but she don’t think she’s got a chance.”  He stared her, suddenly intent.  “But does she?”

Cersei felt hot tears well up in her eyes, something wild and warm bubbling up in her chest.  “Oh, Joffrey,”  she sighed again.  “Yes.  Yes, she does…”  It took all her restraint not to say more, because she knew boys didn’t like to bear their mothers talk that way, but Lord, did Catelyn have a chance?  She had more than a chance.    


After a minute, he said awkwardly, “You do what you want to do, Mom.  If I was you, though, I’d find a reason to take her out on your Varadero.”

Cersei gaped at him.  “Why?”

He shrugged.  “Arya told me girls like girls who ride motorcycles.”

“I haven’t even started that thing since your father died.”

“Well, maybe it’s time.  Like I said.  Arya told me.”

Suddenly, impulsively, she embraced Joffrey, ruffled his hair.  “You best not be wrong,” she told him in a choked voice, unable to contain the flood emotions hitting her all at once.

“I’m not,” he gasped in response to her overtight hug.

“She best not be wrong either,” Cersei added.

“I don’t think she is,” he replied.  “And I can't breathe.”

She released him.  “Sorry, darling.”  She glanced at the sink.  “Can you finish the dishes?  I need to go to the garage for a few minutes.”

He nodded.

She ran to the garage, flicked on the lights, and looked at her black Honda Varadero, the bike that had been a friend and a release during her miserable marriage to Robert.  She could already feel it rumbling underneath her again.

_ Girls like girls who ride motorcycles. _


	30. Girls Who Ride Motorcycles

Cersei stared at her son with a gleam in her green eyes. 

“Joffrey.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Talk to your Starklings,” she commanded.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Make it happen.”

“Yes ma’am.”

  
  


*****************

  
  


Friday evening brought another rehearsal.  Cat was in her room, fussing with her hair in front of the mirror.  Up, down, up, down, half up…  _ What is wrong with me? _  she wondered.   _ Why am I acting like this?  As if I could actually have her anyway?    
_

Robb was shuttling Bran and Meera to an exhibition of artwork from gothic literature in Iron Isle tonight, but Snow would be home in a few minutes and then she could leave.  She hated cutting things this close, but the animal shelter meant the world to Snow, so she let them continue to juggle that and the play.    


Her phone rang.  It was Snow.  She picked up.  “I sure hope you’re calling to tell me that you’re just around the corner, sweetheart.”

“Uh, actually, no, Aunt Cat.  I blew a tire pulling out of the shelter parking lot.  There was a pothole, and with the dusk, I guess I just didn’t see it.  Val’s on her way with the tow truck to change the tire for me but I’m not gonna be home in time for you to get to rehearsal.”

“Well,” Cat sighed, “that’s not good news.  I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious than that.  You’ve got my triple A card in the car, right?”

“Course, Aunt Cat.  Maybe you can get a ride from Ms. Lannister. They don’t live so far from us.”

“Alright, sweetie.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m glad you’re alright.  Hurry home.  Arya’s riding with Dany.  I’ll tell Gendry you won’t be there tonight.”

Cat hung up.

  
  


*****

  
  


In the parking lot of the animal shelter, Snow sat on the hood of the car, which had all four tires perfectly intact.  They called Arya.  “Okay,” they said.  “I’ve held up my end.”  Sansa and Bran were sitting beside them, smiling.  Robb was parked next to them.

This had to work.  It had to.  It just had to.

  
  


*******

 

Catelyn picked up the phone and dialed Cersei.    


“Cat!” she answered, sounding unusually happy to hear from her.  “How are you?”

“Well,” Cat sighed, “I’m sorry to bother you, but Robb is two towns over with the one car, and Snow’s blown a tire and won’t be home with the other car in time for me to get to rehearsal, so–”

“You need a ride?” Cersei said quickly.  “Not a bother at all, Cat.  Glad to.  I’ll see you in fifteen, alright?”

“Oh, thank God. Thank you,” Cat breathed, relieved.  She fussed with her hair, decided to go with half-up, half down, and changed her blouse to the green, because it was her best color.  She scolded herself again for acting like a lovesick fourteen year old, and went down to the kitchen to wait by the front door with a can of Diet Coke.

A motorcycle pulled up by the curb.  Catelyn frowned.  Who could that be?  She didn’t know anyone with a motorcycle.  They must have the wrong house.  She watched a slim figure in jeans and a leather jacket climb off the bike and start moving smoothly up the walkway.  The figure pulled the tinted black motorcycle helmet off, and blonde hair tumbled down.    


Dear god.

It was Cersei.

Catelyn’s heart stopped.  There was no way.  How could she possibly get on that bike with her?  She couldn’t be serious. Could she?  Her heart was pounding.  She would come undone.  She realized she’d better think of something to say before she embarrassed herself.  “I didn’t know you rode a bike.”

Cersei gave her a little smile.  “Yes.  It’s been a while.  But Myrcella has the car tonight.  So, I decided to take her out.  Hope you don’t mind climbing on the back.”

Catelyn was terrified that she was blushing.  “Oh, well… no… I suppose it’s fine.”

Cersei seemed amused.  “Well, come on then, Ms. Stark.  It’s getting late.”

Indeed it was.  The sun was sinking into the hazy purple sky and the shadows of the palms were creeping up the porch.  Catelyn put down her drink and came tripping down the steps, following Cersei out to the bike.  Cersei gave her a helmet, which she put on, and then climbed on behind her.    


Cersei glanced over her shoulder before popping her helmet on, and said, “Hold on tight.”

Catelyn slid her arms around Cersei’s waist.  Lord, but it felt too good to have an excuse to put her arms around her and be this close.  She could smell her perfume, and the leather of her jacket.  She felt the bike roar to life, and she leaned in, her front pressed against Cersei’s back, her knees on either side of her hips.  The engine growled, and the bike sprang forward like some kind of wild beast, and they rolled down the street, toward the highway and the blushing sunset, with the bike rumbling underneath her.

Catelyn couldn’t be sure if she was drawing breath the entire time.  The world whizzed past them, and the evening was gently creeping in, and she had her arms around this incredible, gorgeous woman, and for that little stretch of time, there was nobody in the world but the two of them.  She didn’t want it to end.

But they arrived at the theater, and they had to get off the bike, go inside, and do what they were there to do.  Catelyn could barely speak after they got off the bike.  She managed to assure Cersei that it was the most fun she’d ever had, but apart from that, she couldn’t make many words.  She was done in, for sure.

  
  


******

  
  


Cersei could see that the bike ride had done something to Catelyn.  She was looking at her differently.  But it had done something to her too, feeling Cat’s arms around her.  It made her less afraid, less able to hold back the tide of what was inside her.  She couldn’t stop looking at Catelyn the entire night, and so she didn’t try.  When they exchanged props, she let her fingers brush Catelyn’s, and didn’t care and didn’t apologize.  And with each little gesture, each little ounce of affection and attraction that she let out, the feelings grew.  Each deliciously needless touch pushed the door open a little more.  Catelyn wasn’t running away from it.  She was receiving it.  She was, Cersei dared to think, maybe even returning it.    


They ran their number together, in their shiny dresses, and their steps were perfect, and their eyes met several times, and Cersei could see the look in Catelyn’s eyes that she’d seen in that photograph.  That look was Cersei’s whole world right now.  She was tempted again to “miss” their choreography and make one of those air kisses real, but she held back, difficult as it was.  She didn’t want it to happen that way.

By the end of rehearsal, she was leading Catelyn back out to the bike with a hand on her back, gentle but not hesitant, because she couldn’t stop touching her now if she wanted to.  They stopped in front of it.  Cersei handed her the helmet and they paused for a moment.  She leaned forward and touched her forehead to Catelyn’s and said very quietly, “Please put on your helmet, Cat.  I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

“Why, thank you,”  Cat answered, her voice just as low and soft.

They got on the bike.  Cersei took the scenic route past the lake, and the moon and stars cast speckled silver on its surface.  She was on her bike again, after all this time, and she had Catelyn Stark on the back of it, had those strong arms around her, had her soft body pressed against her back, the scent of her, vanilla and something sweet, in her senses.  And the stars were sprayed like pearls across the sky and the air was a cool, sweet breath on her skin.   _ Yes,  _ was all she could think.  _  Yes, yes, yes, yes. _

When they arrived at the Stark residence, she was disappointed.  She didn’t want it to end.  They got off the bike, left the helmets on the seat, and Cersei walked her to the door.  They stopped under the porch light.  She couldn’t let this night end, she couldn’t.  They stood facing each other in front of the screen door, and Catelyn was staring at her, her eyes full of invitation that was now clear and unmistakable.

“Thanks for everything,” she began, her voice barely a murmur. “Your bike is…”

Cersei couldn’t take it anymore.  It was a mild, beautiful night.  She wanted this woman, in this moment.  She put a hand on Cat’s shoulder, leaned down, and kissed her.  It was brief.  Her mouth was soft.  She heard Cat’s breath catch in surprise, and she pulled back, wanting to know that what she’d done was alright.

Catelyn looked at her, bewildered and hopeful and stunned and full of caution.  “Now listen,” she protested in a small voice. “Just what did you mean by that, Cersei?”

“I’m sorry,” Cersei whispered back.  “I meant this.”  And she kissed her again, and this time, she lingered.  This time, Catelyn kissed back, and it lasted a few moments longer and its meaning was clear.    


Catelyn pulled back and looked at her, her face slowly registering her happiness at the fact that this was really happening.  “Are you sure?”

“Never been this sure of anything, Cat,” Cersei sighed.  And their eyes fell closed, and they kissed again.  This time, Catelyn’s hands settled on either side of Cersei’s face and she was brushing her thumb over one of Cersei’s cheekbones and her other hand was brushing down her cheek, down her neck.    


She’d never felt butterflies in her stomach but now they were drunkenly careening around in her chest, up her throat, through her lips as she sighed, and breathed in, and sighed again.  Her hands clasped around the back of Cat’s neck, pulling her deeper into their kiss, and then her fingers dug into the red waves of her hair, and her body was like a struck match.  She tasted like honey.  Her lips were like silk.  It was gentle, it was tender, it was passionate.  This, she realized, was what it was supposed to feel like.  This.  And all she could think was  _ yes, yes, yes, yes. _

She pulled back to breathe for a moment but stayed close to her, still able to taste the sweetness of her breath.  “I don’t want to stop kissing you,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to,” Cat whispered back.

They kissed again, pulling each other’s bodies closer, and Cersei felt the flush in her cheeks, and it was incredible to feel what it was to want someone, and to be holding that someone, and kissing that someone, and knowing that that someone wanted her too.

After another long moment, they stopped.  Catelyn’s voice was full of regret as she sighed, “I have to … I have to go inside.”   


Cersei drank in the way Catelyn was looking at her.  As if she were something beautiful and special.  “Don’t,” she half-pleaded, but she had her own children to get home to.

“I have to,”  Cat answered.  “Kiss me goodbye?”

“Yes, yes,” Cersei laughed softly.  And they were in each other’s arms again, kissing each other like they were running out of time.    


“You’re not going to decide later that this was a mistake, are you?”  Catelyn asked when they had stopped to breathe.

Cersei shook her head.  “You?”

Cat shook her head.  “Call me later?”

Cersei nodded.  She leaned in and stole one last soft kiss before leaving, and then floated back down to her bike, turning around and walking backwards at one point so that she could keep looking at Catelyn, as if somehow Cat would fall out of love with her if she stopped looking for too long.  Cat stayed on the porch, watching her go, watching her get on the bike, watching her ride away.  Cersei set off into the mild evening, high like she couldn’t remember ever having been, laughing at the universe for having given her something this good.

And all she could think was  _ Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. _


	31. Like A Wayward Teenager

Catelyn watched Cersei disappear.  Her body was suddenly lit up like Christmas and she almost couldn't believe what had just happened.  It had been so long since she’d been kissed, and even longer since she’d known the thrill of new kisses.  And this… this has been such a surprise, though as she slowly drifted inside, she suddenly felt that it had all been inevitable.    


She closed the door behind her, and leaned back against it for a moment, closing her eyes and brushing her fingers over her lips.  She could still feel that kiss.  It had actually happened.  She lingered there, sighing happily for a moment.    


She felt a presence.  She heard a throat clear.  Sansa was peering around the corner, smiling a knowing smile at her.    


Catelyn collected herself.  “Can I help you?” she demanded.

Sansa, damnit, but she was wearing a smirk.  There was no other word.  “Was it nice on Ms. Lannister’s motorcycle?” she asked innocently.

“Now listen,” Catelyn began indignantly, but she couldn't quite work out what to be indignant about.  What could she say?   _ Yes, yes it was wonderful and magical and she kissed me and my heart feels like a hot air balloon. Goddamnit.    _ No.  Catelyn just wanted to have this moment to herself for now.  She'd tell her kids soon enough, but for now, this only belonged to her and Cersei.  She figured she would need a minute to decide how to gently explain to her children that she loved women too.  “Yes.  It was just fine.”

Her deadpan wasn't quite on point.  Sansa knew something was up.  But to Cat’s eternal gratitude, she let it go.    


“Everyone make it home alright?” Cat asked.  


Sansa nodded.

It occurred to Cat that it was silly to think it needed to be a sit down kind of talk.  That with her gender-fluid eighteen year old and her fourteen year old in a lesbian relationship, probably they couldn't begin to care.  But kids could be funny about their parents and what they expected from them, and were generally horrified to think of them as sexual beings.  She decided it was better to let it wait.  She wasn't even sure what to tell them at this point except that she'd been kissed and it felt wonderful.

She found the brood in the den, watching one of Arya’s Kung fu movies.  Rickon had been tucked into bed already.  She quizzed them on their evenings, didn't really listen to their answers, then bade them goodnight, claiming to be very tired, and exhorted them not to stay up too late, knowing at least a couple of them probably would.

It was nearly ten when she settled into her bed in a nightgown, and she couldn't stand it.  Rules be damned, she was thirsty.  She sent Cersei a text:   _ Can you talk? _

  
  


*****************

  
  


Cersei arrived home, put the bike away, and sat down for a moment in the porch swing.  She wanted a moment to herself before she went inside and stepped back into her life.  She wanted to look at the sky, and feel this feeling, and remember over and over again the way Cat had felt in her arms.  She thought about the arc of her life, the times over the years that she had buried feelings, denied them, ached over something without knowing why.  Tasting Catelyn’s lips had been tasting freedom.  It had been suddenly understanding why people fell in love.  It had become every love song on the radio making sense.    


She felt, finally, normal.  She sat back, idly rocking, wondering when she would get to kiss her again.  Wondering what it would be like to make love to her, a thought both thrilling and terrifying.

She heard the screen door open, and heavy, shambling steps approach the swing.  Joffrey sat down beside her and handed her a glass of chilled white wine.

She smiled, and sipped it, and continued staring quietly at the sky.

“Somethin’ happen?”  he finally asked.

She only said, “Hush.”

She heard him chuckle.  “You’re smiling.”

“Hush, I am not,” she answered, but there was no wiping the happiness off her face.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered, and said nothing more.

She finally turned to look at him after another quiet moment.  She saw in his hand a wine glass, same as her own, half full with what looked like the same chilled pinot grigio.  “Joffrey Baratheon, that had better be sparkling grape juice in that glass.”

He smirked.  “Yes ma’am.”

Of course it wasn’t.  But he had earned it, she decided.  “Alright, then.”

They exchanged a small smile.    


“I see y’all didn’t burn the house down,” she remarked, gesturing behind her.

“Yeah,” he said, “we didn’t cook, we just got pizza.”

Another couple of beats.  They sipped at their wine.

“So?” he asked finally.  “Is it true?”

“What’s that?”

“Do girls like girls who ride motorcycles?”

Cersei laughed.  “Hush.  None of your business.”  She stood up with her wine glass and announced, “I believe I’m going to retire.”

“Night, Mom,” he said, remaining in his spot on the swing.  They stayed silent for a minute, listening to the last straggler crickets of the season chirping in the distance.    


She patted him on the back.  “Goodnight, Joffrey.  And … thank you.”

She was settling in upstairs, changing into her favorite soft flannel pajamas, when her purse buzzed.  It was a text from Catelyn.   _ Can you talk? _

She texted back.   _ Yes, call me. _

A moment later, her phone lit up.  Cat’s voice on the other end was the sweetest sound she could imagine hearing right now.  She sprawled out on her back on the burgundy duvet and greeted her, “Good evening, Ms. Stark.”

“Good evening,” Cat riposted, “but I’d like to think we’re on a first name basis now.”

Cersei chuckled.  “Indeed we are.”  There was a long silence, in which Cersei was wondering what to say next.  She decided to go with bluntly truthful.  “I wish I was kissing you right now.”

“Mm,” Catelyn agreed.  “That does sound nice, I must admit.”  Another long silence.    


Then Cersei asked, “So what happens now?”

Catelyn sighed.  “Oh, I don’t know.  Do we have to decide right this instant?”

Cersei took a breath. “I suppose not.  I just…”  Something occurred to her.  “You seemed surprised.  Did I surprise you?”

Catelyn paused before replying.  “I didn’t expect it,” she admitted.  “Did you plan all this or was it spur of the moment?”

Cersei smiled.  “Which answer is more romantic?”

“They both have their charms,” Cat answered, “I just wondered.”

“To be honest, I’ve known I wanted to kiss you since we danced at the cookout.  And you?”

“Since you came and fixed my sink.”

“Really?  That was the thing?”

“You had on a wet t-shirt and you were wielding tools.  Call it a weakness of mine.”

Cersei chuckled and shifted onto her side.  “Cat,” she sighed.  “Cat, Cat, Cat.  Do you know something?  I’ve never felt like this.  Never.”

“Hm, I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” Catelyn answered, and her voice was so soft and sweet and flirtatious, it made the little hairs on the back of Cersei’s neck stand up.

She laughed out loud.  “No, Catelyn Stark, I assure you that I do not.”

“Oh, I’m special, then?”

“More than you know.”

“Tell me.”

Cersei took a deep breath.  “I was… a clenched fist when we met.”

It was Catelyn’s turn to give out a soft laugh.  “Were you, now?”

“Shush, now.  I was and you know it.  And that’s the way I’ve always been.  Or, for longer than I care to think about.  I was a clenched fist, and I couldn’t see into myself, and I couldn’t see out of myself.  And you … you changed that.”  She took another breath.  “You opened me, Cat, in a way that I didn’t even know I needed.  And you didn’t even know you were doing it.  You weren’t even trying.  I found myself falling for you because you were you, not because you were trying to get me to open up, not because I wanted something from you.  Just because you were you.”

A long pause followed.

“Cat?”

“I’m sorry,” Cat whispered, sounding suddenly emotional.  “I didn’t… I didn’t realize how much this meant to you.”

Cersei tamped down a panic in her chest.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean…”  Cat was quiet for a moment, and it sounded as though she was trying to gather her feelings before she spoke.  “I mean, Cersei … I’ve had my own walls up, too.  I said I was too busy to meet someone but the truth is, I think I’d given up on the idea that I’d ever love someone like I loved Ned, so I didn’t even try.”

Cersei held her breath for a moment.  “Do you want to try now?”

“I don’t have to try,”  Cat answered softly. 

Cersei bit her lip.  “Goddamnit, woman.  I need to kiss you again.  I’m half considering jumping in my car right now and driving over there and climbing up in your bedroom window like a wayward teenager.”

“Hm, you do that and I might not let you leave.”  Oh God, she thought, there was that note in her voice again.  That warm, delicious note.    


“I hate to disappoint you but that’s not much of a threat.”  And just like that, it had gotten all warm and silky again.  Cersei didn’t say anything, she just took a moment to lay there and bask in it.  “Cat?”

“Hm?”

“Who was it?”

“Who was what?”

“Who was it that you wore lingerie for?”

She could practically hear Cat blushing over the phone.  “A girl in college.”

“Really,” Cersei purred.    


Cat laughed softly.  “Now slow down, there, tiger.  Prudence in all things, hm?”

“Cat,” Cersei sighed, “I’m too old for that.  I’ve frittered away some twenty five, maybe thirty years, and I want to spend what I’ve got left the right way.  Caution and prudence are about the last things on my mind.”  She toyed with the hem of her soft flannel shirt as she spoke.  “I want you, Cat, and you are all that I want, and I don’t care who knows, and I don’t care what they think.  I’m sorry if that’s a lot to take.  I feel right with you.  I have never felt right, not ever, not with a soul.”

Cat was quiet for a minute.  “I want you too.  I just don’t want to rush in.  We both have families and our places in the community and our own fears and issues and things to sort through.  It’s been a very long time since I’ve been with a woman.  My children don’t know that about me.”

“I’ve never been with one,” Cersei answered frankly.  “And as for your children…”  She laughed.  “Well, I think you’d better have a little chat with them about the events of this evening.”

Cat turned testy for a moment, but her voice was playful too.  “Just what does that mean?”

“Uh-uh, Cat,” Cersei laughed.  “I’m not selling anyone out.”

Cat gave an exasperated sigh.  Then she paused.  “What do you mean, never?”

“Never.  As in, not once.  Not ever.”

“All the more reason to take things slow.”

“All the more reason not to.  I’ve been living a life, a whole life, that wasn’t mine.  This is mine, now.”  She couldn’t help the urgency in her voice.  “And you’re mine, if you want that.”

“I do,” Cat answered after a moment.

  
  


*********

  
  


Cat lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, her heart pounding in her chest.  Cersei’s intensity was part of what attracted her so she supposed she ought not be surprised that she was approaching this with intensity too.  But nevertheless.    


“And I’m yours,” Cersei continued.  “If you want that too.”

“I do,” Cat answered.

There was another quiet, this time filled with some sounds on Cersei’s end that Catelyn couldn’t quite identify.  It became noisier.  “Listen,” she said after a moment, “I don’t want you to mistake my caution as any reflection on how I feel about you.  You’ve made me blush more times than I care to count lately.”

“Have I?”  Cersei inquired, clearly intrigued.

“Oh, yes,”  Cat confirmed.  “I just about died putting that garter on you.  Just about died looking at you in that dress.  Especially when you had that power drill in your hands.”

“Power tools.”

“Power tools.  And when you hugged me, when your shirt was all wet … well, I had some trouble falling asleep that night.”

“Is that so?”

And there they were.  Back to flirting.  Cat couldn’t help herself.  “It is.  Matter of fact … well, never mind.”

“Now you know that’s not fair.”

“Nothing.  But I thought for half a second that I might grab you and kiss you right then.”

“Mm,” Cersei replied.  “I almost wish you had.”

“Almost?”

“Well, I rather like the way our first kiss went, don’t you?”

“Oh, without question.”

Another pause.  Their was a lot of background noise on Cersei’s end.  Like an air conditioner or something.

“What are you up to, Cersei?”

“What ever do you mean?”

“What are you up to?  It’s noisy on your end, like you’re sitting inside of an air conditioner.  What in hell are you doing right now?”

Cersei laughed.  “I’m not telling.”

Cat tsked.  “Rotten.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

“I do.”

Another pause.  Cat listened to the background noise.  “You’re in your car.”

“Maybe.”

“You’re on your way here.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.  I’m not on my way.  I’m here.  I’m parked at the end of your driveway.”

Cat bit back a little shriek.  “No.  Really?”

“Really.”

She peeked out the bedroom window.  Sure enough, by the curb was Cersei’s Range Rover.  “Don’t move,” Cat said, and hung up.  She threw on a bathrobe, slipped out the side door, and with the stealth of a mountain cat, moved down the driveway toward the car.  She opened the door and jumped in.    


They fell into each other’s arms then.  The car still running, the radio playing some local country station and someone singing a song about making out in the back of a pickup truck.  Cat tore her mouth away for a moment.  “A little on the nose, don’t you think?” she asked with a sly smile.

Cersei shrugged and kissed her again.  Catelyn practically swooned.  She burned so bright, this one, and all of that passion was like sun on her skin.  They kissed each other as if they might never kiss again, as if they were never going to have another chance to kiss anyone again.  They kissed each other as if they’d been hungry for it since before time began, which they very nearly had been.  Their hands touched each other’s faces, tangled in each other’s hair, brushed light fingers down each other’s necks and shoulders.  If she didn’t get a grip on herself, Catelyn was afraid she might not be able to stop things, but it was so sweet, she could only care about that a little.

Her hand slipped inside Cersei’s leather jacket to rest on her shoulder, and she felt flannel.  She stopped and pulled back.  “You’re wearing your pajamas.”

“So are you.”

“And a leather jacket.”

“I was afraid you might not kiss me if I didn’t wear the jacket.”

“You’re a jackass, Cersei Lannister,”  Cat chuckled warmly, and kissed her some more.  After a few minutes, things were growing a bit heated, and she pulled back.  She could feel her own face was flushed, and Cersei looked about as sexy as Cat had ever seen her, even in her pajamas and her leather jacket, just for the desire that was written on her face.  “I need to go back in,”  she whispered, breathless.

“I hate when you say that,” Cersei whispered back.

“I know,” Cat answered.  “But take heart, Cersei.”

“Why’s that?”

Cat leaned in and kissed her, soft, slow, and deep.  Then she disengaged just enough to be able to form the words, and whisper, “Because one day soon, I’m going to be inside of a bed with you.”

Her lips curled in delight as she heard a sharp intake of breath from Cersei.  Then she kissed her once again, briefly, got out of the car, closed the door as softly as she could, and made her way up the driveway.  She slipped in through the side door, closed it almost soundlessly.  She tiptoed through the den, into the kitchen, and Sansa was sitting at the table, with a cup of tea, looking up at her.

“And where,” her eldest daughter inquired, “have  _ you _ been, young lady?”


	32. Her Wingman Forever Hence

Cat froze.  She tried not to look guilty but the fact was, she had just snuck out the side door late at night to go make out with her girlfriend (girlfriend!?!) who had been parked by the curb.  She mustered some indignance.  “None of your business, _young lady_.”

Sansa was still smiling, the little shit.  She knew.  She had to.  “Was that Ms. Lannister’s car I saw by the curb just now?”

Cat huffed.  “Yes.”

Sansa gave her a raised eyebrow.  “What’d she want?”

 _Me,_ Cat thought in spite of herself.  Instead she gave the lame response, “She was returning something I left.”

“You left something on her bike?  What’d you leave?  Must have been something small, whatever it was.” 

Cat grumped, “Oh, quit giving me the third degree, will you?”  And she began to stomp out of the kitchen.

Sansa called after her, “Mom, I think it’s nice, what’s happening between you two.”

  
  


********

  


Sansa had intended to let her mother have this to herself for a bit, but after she saw her sneak out to Cersei’s Range Rover to furiously make out in the front seat for ten minutes, she made the executive decision to push the issue.  Mainly because she was, if it was possible, maybe even happier about it than her mother was and it was really taking all her restraint not to scream about it.

When her mother had arrived home on the back of Cersei’s bike, Arya had been crouched by the window in the sitting room, peering through the lace curtain, and was silently texting updates to her siblings, who were sitting around in the den, attempting to act natural.

_They’re here._

And then a moment later:

_She’s walking Mom to the door._

A moment later:  
_You guys…. I think they’re gonna_

And then:  
_OMG OMG OMG ASDSDLFKSJDL:FKSJDFL:KJ KISS KISS KISS KISS_

And then finally:  
_JFC they’re still at it OK i’m coming back there  
_

And so, Sansa now sat here in front of her mother, who had stopped dead in her tracks, debating exactly how much to tell her about what she knew.

“I’m sorry?”  Catelyn demanded.

Sansa patted the table.  “Mom, sit down.”  She produced a second teacup, and filled it from the china pot in front of her.

Her mother hesitated for a moment, then sat. 

“Mom, we know what’s happening.”

“We?”

“Yeah, all of us.  Me and Arya and Bran and … well all of us really, except Rickon ‘cause I’m pretty sure he’s too young to get it.”

Catelyn sighed, and surrendered, sipping the tea.  “And what exactly is happening?”

“You and Cersei Lannister.  You guys are in love…”  She paused, and trying to soften it a little, she added, “...or something.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her.  “Now I’m not saying that’s so, but if it were, what would you think about it?”

Sansa chuckled.  “Mom, you really don’t know?”

Catelyn shook her head.  “Know what?”

“We’ve been pulling for this since rehearsals started.  Or at least, I have.  It took me a minute to get everyone else on board.”

Catelyn folded her arms and studied her a moment.  “Is that right?”

Sansa nodded. 

Her mother mulled this over for a moment.  “Why?” she finally asked.

Sansa was still grinning.  “Well, you just spent ten minutes making out in her car, so…”

Her mother flushed, visibly embarrassed.  “But how could you think it would be … possible?”

Sansa sighed.  “Well, you know… I may have stumbled on some old pictures of you and Gail Abernathy in the attic when I was looking for Rickon’s dress-up box.”

“I see,” Cat said slowly.  “You snooped.”

“Not on purpose!”  Sansa was quick to object.  “Of course, the snooping we did on Cersei was on purpose.  That was harder and took more of us to get done.”

Catelyn’s mouth dropped open for a moment, then closed.  “And what exactly did that entail?”

“Well, Robb had to take Talisa to Boca Bistro for dinner one night and I guess they had a conversation with Oberyn and Talisa managed to work out from that conversation that Oberyn suspected Cersei … was, you know… at least a little interested in women, even if she wasn’t admitting it.”

Her mother seemed impressed.  “And what exactly gave you the notion that we belonged together?” 

“Well…”  Sansa paused.  “Don’t you?”

Cat relented without saying anything aloud.  “But how did you see that?”

“It was the thrift shop that kind of got me thinking,”  Sansa explained.  “Someone doesn’t do that unless they’ve got some decency in them.  And … well, I did a little poking around on Gail Abernathy and I figured out that Cersei was a lot like her, at least on the surface.  And I just thought… it would be nice to see you happy again, and see you with someone, and since you were going to be spending all this time together anyway….”

Cat shook her head in amazement.  “So you all know?”

“We all know.  And have been actively working to support it.”

“And… Cersei wouldn’t say why but she said I ought to have a word with my children about tonight.”

Sansa nodded.  “Yeah.  Joffrey and Arya worked it out.  Snow didn’t really blow a tire.  We just made sure there was no car so that you had to call Cersei for a ride.  She planned to pick you up on her bike because Arya figured it would be like catnip.  So to speak.”

Her mother rolled her eyes and said nothing.  She tsked, for the second time this evening, and declared, “Rotten.”

Sansa grinned and sipped some of her own tea. 

A look of realization dawned suddenly on her mother’s face as they sat in silence together.  “The flowers.  You little shits.  You were responsible, weren’t you?”

Sansa shrugged.  “Only for the ones that went to her.  We don’t know who sent yours.”

Catelyn nodded.  “So this really isn’t going to be a problem between you and the Baratheon kids?”

Sansa shrugged.  “I don’t know why it would.  Joffrey’s OK now, he’s not a jerk like he was before.  Myrcella’s always been alright.  I mean I guess I don’t really know Tommen but he seems okay too.”

Her mother continued to think for a moment, fretting silently.  “And socially, in the broader community?”

Sansa laughed.  “Come on.  Between Snow and Arya, how shocking is this really going to be?”

“Kids can be jerks,” Cat warned.

“And Arya and Joffrey can clean their clocks.”

Cat nodded, smiling, but looking a little shellshocked.  Granted, it was a lot to take in, all in one night.  Her entire world had changed.  “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Mom.  You have no idea.”  


 

*****************

  


It was at breakfast that Myrcella came up behind her mother as she was making flapjacks and squeezed her around the waist.  “Good job, Mom.”

Cersei glanced over her shoulder at her daughter.  “These are the same flapjacks I always make.”

Myrcella shook her head and replied with sarcasm thick enough to spread on toast,  “Yeah, Mom.  I’m talking about the flapjacks.

Cersei sighed loudly.  “Dear sweet Lord Almighty, can your brother keep nothing to himself for a damn minute?”

But she was full of mirth under all of her mock outrage, and Myrcella smiled.  “I’m just happy for you, that’s all.”

“Well, thank you,” Cersei answered, and pulled the first set of flapjacks out of the pan and dropped them onto a plate.

“I’m glad it finally came down to Arya and Joffrey.  We weren’t doing such a good job by ourselves,” Myrcella went on.

“What do you mean, by yourselves?”

Myrcella shifted a little and tucked a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, as she did when she was stalling.  “Well, me and Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion…”

“Oh dear Lord, what did you jackasses try to do?”  She paused for a minute as realization dawned on her face.  “You nitwits sent those flowers, didn’t you?”

Myrcella shrugged.  “Well, sort of.  We only sent the ones to Mrs.  Stark.  We didn’t send the ones to you.”

Cersei harrumphed. 

“Anyway, it’s just nice to see you happy, so it was worth it.”  But her voice went up at the end like a question.

Cersei huffed, but she was still smiling.  “Yes, it was.”

Tommen shuffled in just in time to catch this last remark, and asked, “You’re happy?”  He said it with a tone that almost sounded like it was a state of being he had not fully considered possible for his mother.  “What are you happy about?”

Cersei hesitated.  She hadn’t given much thought to what she’d say to Tommen.  Myrcella didn’t say anything, waiting to see what her mother’s response was.  Finally, Cersei looked at her eleven year old, smiled a little nervously, and said, “I’m … seeing someone.”

Tommen looked mildly surprised, then answered, “Oh, ok.  Cool.  Who?”

Cersei paused again and then decided, fuck it, if it was a problem, she was going to have to deal with it sooner or later.  “Ms. Stark.”

Tommen considered it for a moment.  Then nodded once, said, “Okay.  So you like girls now.  Cool,”  and then shuffled off to the den to watch Saturday morning wrestling. 

 _Well,_ she thought dryly, _that was easy._  
  


*********

 

Cersei received some back slapping from her brothers later that afternoon.  Tyrion attempted to advise her about how to properly satisfy a woman, but she promptly shoved a glass of wine into his hand and announced that she wanted no such type of advice from him, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.  She thoroughly berated them both for their hairbrained scheme with the flowers and announced that Joffrey was her wingman forever hence.  There was still her father to deal with, and the outward circles of friends and acquaintances of decreasing levels of proximity, and she hadn’t quite worked out what either of those things were going to look like.

Catelyn told Edmure and Lysa, and they were fairly unsurprised.  Edmure confessed that he actually wondered if things weren’t headed that way after seeing the way they acted together that day they ate at the Spur.  Lysa simply gave a grumpy little snort and remarked, “Well, if you can stand her, congratulations, then.”  It was Lysa’s odd way of giving her blessing to the whole thing, and Cat accepted it as gracefully as she knew how.  She wished she was a little closer with her sister sometimes, but she appreciated that regardless, Lysa still seemed willing to take her whatever way she came.

And so, in parallel steps, they slowly went about the business of declaring themselves, a bit at a time. 

The show, at this point, was two weeks out.


	33. God Bless My Progeny

Hoster Tully was a workaholic in his seventies who loved fishing, college football, bourbon, and that English baking competition show hosted by that lesbian where everyone hugged a lot.  That last one was the fault of his brother, Brynden.  He reckoned twenty years out from his transition, a little bit of Brenda would still peek out now and again.  Hoster was good natured if a little gruff, and he was a bit of a sight with his graying beard and his miraculously full head of hair that was still, while a bit of a faded hue, recognizable as Tully red. 

He loved his children, and was proud of their decency, but he fretted over who would take over the business when he passed on.  He could, of course, sell off bits and leave the money in any number of funds, but it was his preference to leave the entirety of the business in the hands of someone who was capable of managing it properly and growing it, and preferably, one of his children.  Edmure, bless his heart, was doing well enough running the restaurant, and was probably going to supply him with some more grandchildren soon, but the boy couldn’t button his shirt straight half the time, Tully Properties wouldn’t be going to him. Lysa was shrewd enough, but too unstable.  Cat was really his only hope.  She’d been competent enough at helping him the run household after his wife passed, and Cat had been just thirteen at that time.  The Trout was doing well enough.  In their last conversation, she’d been discussing some prudent expansions.  She managed that property and that house with all those kids -- _god bless my progeny_ , he thought -- so she was the obvious choice.

Still, she’d never expressed much interest in becoming the next chief of Tully Properties, so they were going to have to discuss that, and soon.  Robb showed promise; he was bright, could think strategically, and had the sort of clean-cut way about him that would make it easy for him to maneuver about in the world of country clubs and high-ticket dealings.  Nevertheless, he was young, and it would be some time before he was ready, and Hoster had no intention of hanging around on this godforsaken rock for quite that long.

Catelyn was coming to pay him a visit today, in fact, and so he figured there was no time like the present to discuss the matter.

She arrived in casual clothes, taking a midday break from the shop to scoot across town and see him.  Her air was a bit nervous when she first walked in, and he showed her to a seat and offered her a cup of tea, which she declined.

“So, my dear,” he drawled, “how have you been?”

“Just fine, Daddy, though a bit busy.”

He nodded.  “Yes, I’ve spoken with your brother and he’s told me all about what you’ve been up to.”

She seemed to stiffen in front of his eyes, but she maintained her smile and asked, “Oh, and what exactly did Ed tell you?”

He grinned broadly.  “About the show, of course, Cat.  You’re the lead in the musical, aren’t you?  You’ve got your mother’s singing voice, always did.” 

She seemed to relax a little.  “Well, yes, that’s so.  I don’t suppose he told you anything else?”

He shook his head.  “Not really, no.  Well, he did mention you’ve become friends with old Tywin Lannister’s daughter, is that right?”

She smiled, hesitated and then replied, “Well, more than friends actually.”

Hoster paused.  “Now what do you mean by that?”

She clasped her hands in her lap and explained, in a tone that sounded as though she had clearly practiced saying this a number of times before she walked in, “She and I have grown very close, and … well, we’re… a couple.”

“A couple of what?”  Hoster demanded.  He was pretty sure he took her meaning but he wasn’t about to throw away a perfectly good opportunity to make his adult daughter squirm a little before telling her he was planning on handing her the keys to the kingdom.

“Daddy, come on now!”  she exclaimed in frustration.  “We’ve… we’ve fallen in love.”

He looked at her without a word, tapping his pen on the table.  “I see.”  He mused on this for a moment.  “Bit of a late blooming, isn’t it?”

She shook her head.  “Not for me, actually.  I had girlfriends in high school.  College too.”

“That so?  How come you never mentioned it then?”

She sighed, “Well, you know, Daddy, when I was at Berkely, I got real serious with a girl for a while, and I was thinking about telling you, but then that was when Uncle Brynden started going through his transition and it didn’t seem fair to drop all that on you at once.  And then I met Ned, so I guess I didn’t really see the point.”

Hoster nodded.  “And her?”

Cat sighed.  “She’s … well, it is a late blooming, in her case.  Sort of.  A lot of the people close to her seem to have been expecting it.”

He turned this over.  It was a surprise, but given the way half his grandchildren were some damn thing or other, and the fact that his brother used to be his sister, he supposed it wasn’t much to get upset about.  And actually, he could see an upside.  “She’s gonna do right by you, though, yes?”

Catelyn nodded.  “I have no reason to think otherwise.”

He scratched his beard for a moment.  “Well, I think having a Lannister in the family might be a tremendous positive, actually.”

She frowned.  “How’s that?”

He started chuckling, as he just remembered something that had crossed his mind long ago.  “Matter of fact, a part of me secretly hoped you might end up marrying her twin brother, Jaime, on the wild assumption that financial acumen runs in the family.”  He chuckled some more.  “So I missed by this much.” 

Catelyn looked as though he’d given her whiplash.  “Daddy?”

“Now listen,” he rumbled, talking extemporaneously as the thought came into his head, “if you’re going to pick any woman in town, it might as well be a Lannister.  You’re going to need someone close you can trust to help you with financial matters.”

Cat held up her hands.  “Daddy, slow down!  This has been a long time coming, but we only just got together!  It’s a bit early to be talking about–”

Hoster held up his pen, and silenced her.  “Listen to me, Cat.  You’re not getting any younger.  If you intend to settle down with someone, it might as well be her, as long as she makes you happy.”

Cat’s mouth snapped shut.

“Course, time will tell, I suppose.”  He tapped the pen on the desktop.  “But listen, it is my intention to hand the reins of Tully Properties to you when I retire or drop dead.  If you don’t want the role long-term, I understand, and it’s my feeling that we should begin grooming Robb to take it when he’s of age and properly educated on what he needs to know.  Now, I don’t know how you feel about this.  I certainly have my own hesitations where it’s concerned.  But I think I’d feel a whole lot better handing it over to you knowing that you’ve got a Lannister at your side to help you out.”

Catelyn’s eyes were wide.  She waited for a moment to see if he was done speaking, and then replied, “I’d be honored, of course.  I’d see it as my duty to keep it intact and in the family, of course.”

He nodded.  “Good girl.”

She smiled tightly.  She wasn’t sure how she felt about it, he could tell, but she’d do it because he asked her to.  He could always count on her.  She’d warm to it, though, he was sure.  And he trusted Tywin’s daughter to counsel her well.  After an awkward silence, she asked, “So, how was the fishing?”

Hoster roared with a sudden burst of laughter.  “Your uncle didn’t catch a damn thing for the entire first half of the trip!  But let me tell you sweetheart, we are going to be having quite the fish fry at my house soon!!”  


 

*********

  


Cersei generally avoided her father.  They communicated mostly by emails, and mostly about the business.  But she’d decided that the only way to have this conversation was in person, in his office, looking him in the eye.

So here she sat in front of him, unbreaking under his stare, which was as relentless and cool as a glacier.  “So, what is it?”

She supposed there was no reason to beat around the bush.  “Daddy,” she began, “I don’t expect you’ll approve of any of this, but this is my life now, so you need to know that no matter how you feel, it’s not going to change any of it.”

“I already don’t like where this is headed,” he remarked, his voice cold.

“I’ve met someone,” she began, ignoring his comment.  “And I’ve fallen in love.”

He looked at her without a word.

“And it’s the lead in the play.”

He folded his arms.  “Theater rabble.  What, that fencing instructor?”

A brief moment of surprise crossed her mind, realizing that he was paying enough attention to the goings-on of the play to know that Bronn was Mame’s male romantic lead.  “Uh, no, sir.   _The_ lead.”  She took a breath and plunged forward.  “Mame.”

He remained silent for what felt like a full minute.  “Catelyn Stark.”

She nodded.  “Yes.”

“You’re in love,” he said slowly, “with Catelyn Stark.”

She lifted her chin in defiance.  “Yes, I am.”

“So,” he pursued, “you believe yourself to be some sort of theater queer, now?”

She didn’t know what she expected from him.  Probably this.  But she wasn’t interested in keeping it a secret anymore.  And maybe, she realized, maybe she wanted to hurt him a little.  That animal instinct rose up hot in her chest and she went in for blood.  “That’s right, Mr. Lannister.  Your perfect daughter that you spent your life pruning and cutting down and pushing to make her be just so?  She’s a theater queer.  A great big one, too!  I aim to have as much theater queer sex as possible in every location available to me and I’m going to make sure whenever I meet any of your business associates to let them know that I am Tywin Lannister’s lesbian daughter.  How do you like that?”

Tywin shook in his seat for another full minute before he spoke.  “Where do you get the right to speak to me this way?”

“I get the right because I am who I am and you have tried this entire time to make me anything other than that,”  she replied, her voice rasping and breaking around the edges.  “I am who I am.  I love this woman.  You go ahead and you take away whatever you want.  I don’t care.  You don’t own me.”

“You leave here without taking all this back and apologizing to me, you leave here with nothing,” he answered with quiet malice.  “The loan office will pass into your brother’s hands.  I refuse to subsidize any of this.”

She stood up, leaned forward across the desk and jabbed a finger into her father’s bony chest.  “And you can keep the lot of it!” she hissed.  “I don’t need it.  I don’t need you.  If you can’t accept me as I am, I don’t want it.  You can die alone as far as I care.”

She straightened up, turned on heel and marched out.  She was raging, and filled with grief, but it mixed with relief in the strangest ways.  She blew off the loan office for the rest of the afternoon, since it was apparently no longer hers, and drove down to the Trout.  She wanted to be in Cat’s company now and remind herself why she was doing all of this.  

Love might be a many splendored thing, but it surely was bound to lead her through some wrenching changes.


	34. Of Riverrun

Cersei blew into the Silver Trout in high dudgeon, still blazing from her conversation with her father.  She managed to dial it back a few clicks when she laid eyes on Cat, standing behind the counter, directing Jorelle Mormont to carry some boxes of something into the back.  She had a little smudge of flour on her cheek.  The pleasure that sight gave Cersei was enough to ease her mood ever so slightly.

They had agreed that they’d speak to their fathers on the same day, and Cersei moved quickly up to the counter and took both of Cat’s flour-covered hands.  “How was your father?”

Cat smiled. “Oh, no you don’t.  I can practically see the electricity crackling off of you.  What happened?”

Cersei’s eyes blazed.  “I’m not going back to work.  He’s bounced me from the loan office and has promised to cut me off of whatever he can.”

Cat tilted her head and looked at her with concern.  “What will you do?”

Cersei shrugged.  “Whatever I want!” she cried.  “I have enough of my own savings plus whatever Robert left me that I don’t technically have to work for at least a decade if I don’t feel so inclined.”  Her breathing was a little shallow.  Captain Carter’s voice echoed in her head,  _ However you like. _

Cat frowned.  “Well, but you are going to do  _ something _ , aren’t you?”

Cersei scoffed.  “Of course.  I just don’t have to decide this instant what, that’s all.”  She was warming to this turn of events as she considered it.  “Cat,” she whispered.  “I’m free.  I don’t need him.  I don’t need his money.  I don’t need to spend another goddamned day in that loan office.”  She leaned across the counter and planted a brief kiss on Cat’s lips, which seemed to startle her.  She paused.  “I’m sorry.  Was that not alright?  I suppose we haven’t talked about all of…”  She released one of Cat’s hands and gestured around.  “...this.”

Cat smiled, and squeezed Cersei’s other hand.  “No, it’s fine… it just surprised me…”

Jorelle came out from the back and went over to the register to assist a customer.

Cat pulled Cersei behind the counter, into the back, pressed her against a few crates of organic peach tea, and kissed her hard on the mouth.  Cersei smelled her, redolent of coffee and pastries, and breathed it, and cupped Cat’s face between her hands. They stayed that way for a few moments.  Cersei couldn’t lie; this was just about exactly what she needed at the moment.     


“Cat,” she whispered, the tension uncoiling in her neck and shoulders.

“Yes,”  Cat whispered back.

Cersei wanted to say so many things.  She went with, “You’re delicious.”

Cat smiled and dropped a last kiss on her mouth.  “So are you.  Now come on, I have to get back out front.”

They walked back out and Cersei returned to her place on the other side of the counter.  Jorelle tossed them an almost imperceptible raised eyebrow but she was busy with a customer and so said nothing.

“Now,” Cersei pursued her, “what about  _ your _ old man?”

Cat smiled, wiping out a pitcher and preparing to pour in some coffee to be iced.  “He was fine.  He was actually gratified to know I was with you, of all people.  He intends to put me in charge of the business when he retires and he seemed to have confidence in your counsel.”

Cersei smiled a bittersweet smile.  She wondered what it must be like to have a supportive father.  She hung around for a little while longer, sipping a tea, and when the place was mostly empty, they sang a little bit of their number together as Cat puttered around behind the counter.  It earned them a little smile and some polite applause from Jorelle and the two patrons who were sitting near the front window.    


Then she kissed Cat goodbye, a bit more discreetly than her hello.  “I have to get home,” she said softly, “but what time do you close tonight?”

Cat sighed.  “Snow’s supposed to pick me up around six thirty.”

“Tell them no,”  Cersei said.  “I’ll pick you up.”

Cat looked at her for a moment.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Then Cat bit her lip for a moment and asked, “On the bike?”

Cersei nodded.  “If you want.”

“I do.”

  
  
  


*************

  
  


So Cat climbed onto the back of Cersei’s bike for the second time.  It was every bit as thrilling as the first.  She pressed herself against Cersei’s back and held on, this time without any awkwardness.  She was able to enjoy it, knowing what they shared.   


“I want to see Riverrun,”  Cersei said.  “Will you show me how to get there?”

Cat guided her, pointing out the turns over her shoulder, and they followed the winding country roads past the outskirts of town, flying past the open fields dotted with the occasional willow tree rising up from the pale grass that stood waist high.  Dusk was settling in, and the white of the bike’s headlight cut through it with a sure, bright finger.  The estate was nestled in a river delta that was grassy green, lush with trees and vegetation.  It was overgrown, and the long driveway’s red gravel was matted over with some of that same tall grass, but they managed to find a path through it, up to the manse that sat at the top of a gentle slope.

It had been an antebellum plantation home, and the carriage house and stables still stood, set back a ways from the house.  It was three stories, with wraparound porches on the two lower levels, each of which displayed a chandelier hanging front and center.  The plaster facing was cracked and in some places was dropping off in sheets, and a row of columns supported a cornice that ended in sculpted marble fishes at either end.  Half the windows were busted out, and the slate walkway was in disrepair, but it was still a magnificent piece of house.

Cersei gave a low whistle.  “Just gorgeous,” she sighed.

Catelyn sighed.  “Yes.  It’s a damn shame it needs so much work.”  She pointed up the hill, to a tire swing that hung from a sturdy branch on what looked like a very large, very old water oak tree.  “We used to climb that tree, and play on that tire swing, me and Ed and Lysa.”  She still held onto Cersei’s waist, despite their being stopped.

Cersei dismounted, then helped Cat dismount.  They walked up the hill, fighting the grasses, passing the overgrown hedges that stuck out bushy limbs in all directions.  They held hands as they walked up to the mansion steps and Cersei looked around, her eyes taking it all in.   


“Was this an actual plantation?” she asked.

“At one time, yes.  It’s  a small point of pride that our family was one of the first in these parts to manumit their slaves.  Prior to the war, even.  Old Elston Tully was a man of faith and the Christian abolitionists got to him early.”   


Cersei smiled but didn’t say anything.  Her eyes swept over the architecture, taking it all in.  “So your father moved closer to town because of his heart trouble?” she asked.

Cat nodded.  “And Ed had the business.  And Lysa … well, she moved away for a while, as did I.  So, as you can see, it’s fallen into some disrepair.”  She sighed with regret.  She didn’t know how she was ever going to manage Tully Properties, much less ever think about getting this place back into presentable condition.

“How many bedrooms in the main house?”  Cersei asked.

Cat tapped her foot on the slate beneath it for a moment while she thought.  “Ten, all told, I think.  And then a living room, a parlor, kitchen, dining room …”  She trailed off, trying to remember everything.  “And then the carriage house has maybe three more bedrooms.”

Cersei nodded silently.

Cat looked at her.  “Why’d you want to see it?”

Cersei smiled and took her hand.  “I just wanted to see where you came from, Cat.”  She leaned down and kissed her, and they spent a breathless moment enjoying the softness of each other’s mouths.   


Fingers tangled loosely together, they walked over to the oak, which was next to the river.  As they walked, Cersei asked, “Do you remember your mother?”

“Oh yes,”  Cat replied.  “I was thirteen when she died.  Car wreck.  It was hard.  I ended up taking on a lot of the things she did.”  They walked a few more paces in silence.  “What about you?”

“Well, I was young.  She died giving birth to Tyrion.  I was five.  It was hard in a different way.  I remember her a little, but not like you do.”  She sighed.

When they reached the tree, Cat sat herself in the giant tire, and Cersei lazily pushed her for a few quiet minutes while they listened to the trickle of the moonlit river running past them, and the occasional splash of a small fish leaping from the water and then plunging back in.   Cat leaned back, and looked upside down at Cersei, smiling.  “So, is this a date?”

Cersei scoffed.  “I should say not,” she answered, and braced the swing with her hands to stop it, and dropped an upside down kiss on Cat’s chin.  “You’ll know when it’s a date.  This was just me driving you home and stopping off on the way to see the house you grew up in.”

Cat chuckled.  “You know, this isn’t even remotely on the way.”

Cersei gave the swing another push.  “I know.”

“Then it’s a date.”

“Catelyn, I am neither wining nor dining you.  It is therefore most certainly not a date.”

Cat stopped herself with her feet, and slid out of the swing.  She sauntered up to Cersei and slipped her arms around her waist.  “Are you really alright with all this business with your father?”

She nodded.  “I honestly didn’t expect different.  I’m not saying it doesn’t hurt, but that’s the case anytime you stitch up a wound, isn’t it.”

Cat drew her close and held her tightly for a moment.  “I’m with you, every step of this,”  she promised.

They stayed that way for a few minutes.  Cat ran her hands up and down Cersei’s back, and then said, “I do need to get home, though.”

Cersei nodded.  “I knew you were about to say that.”

“And so do you.”

“I do.”

They held hands as they stumbled back to the bike through the tall grass. Catelyn climbed onto the bike.  Cersei mounted it backwards and they spent several long minutes kissing and whispering soft things to each other before Cersei reluctantly turned around and started the engine, and carried them together back toward town and home.

Some three months they’d known each other.  She’d have never imagined when they met that they’d wind up like this.  In ways big and small, they were building things together.

The play, at this point, was ten days out.


	35. A Proper Legacy

Asha slammed down her beer and glared at Oberyn.  “You bastard.  You bloody bastard.”

He gave her an innocent smile.  “What did I do now?”

She stood up, turned him around, and pointed over his shoulder at where her lead and her co-star were standing off in a shadowed corner of the theater, leaning close to each other and doing what certainly looked for all the world like whispering sweet nothings.

Oberyn chuckled.  “The way I see it, you got nothing to be angry about.  Now they’re not fighting anymore.”

She huffed in response.  “I can’t have them making eyes at each other during their numbers, now can I?”  She stomped away from her little table up at the front, and then stomped back.  “Mame isn’t meant to be a queer show, now is it?”

Oberyn shrugged.  “Maybe it is?  Maybe you get points for doing something revolutionary.”

“Revolutionary.  Like Loras Tyrell as Eliza Doolitte.  Fuck off, Oberyn.”  She stomped away toward the back of the theater.

He put a hand on her shoulder.  “Listen, listen. It’s a good thing, okay?  I promise, Asha, it’s not gonna fuck up the show.  We got bigger problems, I think.”

She turned and faced him with a raised eyebrow.  “Like what, you cockwomble?”

“Cersei told her father about them.  I heard he didn’t take it so great.  She seems to be alright, but… I worry that he’s gonna take his anger out on this place.”  He gestured around them at the grand old theater.    


Asha rolled her eyes.  “Bloody Christ, Martell, you can’t do anything small, can you?”  she demanded.  “Well, you know what you need to do.  It’s on your head now.”

He smiled easily. “Of course.  I’ll call Olenna.”

  
  


**********

 

Olenna sat across from Tywin at the best table in the Italian restaurant he preferred.  Without his having to ask, they brought out a chilled bottle of white, something terribly expensive that they kept around especially for him.  Wordless, they drank for several moments before Tywin finally spoke.  “So?  Why did you call me here?  It certainly can’t be because you’ve finally decided to sell me that acreage of the farm.”

Olenna snorted.  “Of course not.  I’ll never sell and you know it.”

“So?”

Olenna sipped a little more wine.  A waiter came over, Tywin ordered them both a shrimp fra diavolo, and then tore off a piece of the bread that the waiter had set in front of them.

“Now listen,” she said without preamble, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Tywin Lannister.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”  She sipped at her wine a moment.  “Disowning your daughter like some sort of leper, what year do you think this is?  Fine Christian you are.”

“I’m quite sure she didn’t tell you what she said to me.”

Olenna rolled her eyes.  “As if I care.”  She leaned forward.  “Tywin, has it ever occurred to you that you might enjoy your daughter’s company if you let her be how she is?  Honestly, when’s the last time you saw her smile?  It sure wasn’t at that cotillion you dragged her through when she was sixteen.  Thirty years ago if it was a day, and I still remember how miserable she looked.  Not to mention how miserable  _ you _ looked.”  She harrumphed.  “I’m one of the few people in this town old enough to remember when you were capable of smiling.  You haven’t hardly done since you lost Joanna.”

Tywin began to muster a haughty indignation but Olenna was having none of it.  “I beg your-”

“Hush, I’m still speaking.  Now, Joanna lived a life, and one that you ought to be damned proud of.  Fate doesn’t care, sometimes.  But trying to force that daughter of yours to be some dull as dishwater bean counter when it’s clearly not who she is… and she’s tried, Tywin, any fool can see she’s tried for years, decades, even.  Trying to push that on her is not going to keep her safe.  Sometimes bad things happen that we cannot control.”

Tywin’s face darkened.  “You will not mention Joanna again,”  he commanded, stabbing a finger into the air in front of him.

“The hell I won’t!” Olenna snorted.

“She has nothing to do with this. My daughter thinks she’s some kind of homosexual now, did you know that?”

Olenna yawned and toyed with her napkin.  “Please, as if you never had a thought like that in your life?”

“Never,” he answered righteously.  “It’s not natural.”

“Come off it, Tywin.  Anyone with eyes could see twenty five years ago that that girl was as queer as a rainbow flag at a pride parade and that she was just so damn scared of disappointing you that she even tried to hide it from herself.”

“Madam!” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper.  “You will cease your prattling!”

“As if,” Olenna grunted.  “Honestly, Tywin, nobody gives a goddamn about lesbians anymore.”

He huffed.

“Any self-respecting conservative nowadays is meant to be up in arms about whether trannies are using the right bathrooms.  You’ve got to get with the times.”  She sipped her wine.

Tywin’s face was clearly in a battle with itself as to how scandalized he was supposed to be over what Olenna was saying to him.  “Madam,” he said again, with somewhat less conviction.

Olenna busted out laughing for a moment.  She drained her wine and looked at Tywin.  She almost felt sorry for him.  “Tywin, I know she looks so much like that wife of yours, it must break whatever’s left of that Alaskan tundra you call a heart, some days.  I remember Joanna, she was a beauty.  Tell you the truth, I’m not sure you deserved her, but you had the luck.”  She shook her head.  “All the brains in your head and yet you can’t see the most obvious things in front of your face when it comes down to the blood and guts business of being a decent human being.  Do you suppose Joanna would approve of your behavior right now?  Because I’d bet the back acreage of the farm she wouldn’t.”

The waiter sailed over and gave an apologetic little bow.  “I’m sorry sir, but it appears we have–”

“Not now!”  Tywin barked.

The poor waiter scampered away.

“And that’s another thing,” Olena remarked, tearing off a piece of bread and beginning to butter it.  “There’s no call for you to be such a sonofabitch to the waitstaff everywhere you go.”

“I tip exceedingly well,” he answered defensively, but Olenna smiled because she knew he sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“You can't buy your way out of being a sonofabitch,” she answered.   “Now listen, Tywin.  You and I, we’re old.  We’re not going to be around very much longer.  You have a decision to make about what kind of legacy you want to leave.  I don’t give a rat’s ass how many goddamn brass plaques you’ve got around town with your name on ‘em.  That’s not a proper legacy.  Your legacy is what your children and your grandchildren say about you.”

“My legacy should be love instead of bronze plaques,” he snarled, “is that what you’re saying?”

“Hell, no reason you can’t have both.  Reckon I will.”  She smirked, gazing at him a moment more.  “Tywin, I remember what kind of man you used to be.  I think it’d break Joanna’s heart to think she took every bit of humanity and decency in you down to the grave with her when she died.  There’s a reason why you bought that theater, and it sure as shit ain’t because it’s a profit center.”  She stood up and tossed a pair of hundred dollar bills onto the table.  “I’m afraid, sir, that I’ve lost my appetite.  But I do hope you’ll turn up for opening night.”

  
And the play, at this point, was a week away.


	36. Every Hollow and Well

The tension buzzed around the center of town, as the players prepared themselves.  Cersei spent her mornings after dropping the kids off at school having a bit of coffee at the Trout (once with Jaime and Peggy), and then going home, puttering around the house, reading things on the internet.   


Jaime called her from the loan office, pleading with her, “Cersei, dad wants me to pick up your job.  I don’t know how to do this.  I haven’t worked here since before I joined the Air Force.  Can you come help me out?”

“Nope,” she replied breezily.  “I love you, Jaime, but i’m not lifting a finger to help Daddy.  Taena knows the basics, she can show you if you just give her your most charming smile.”

“I’m asking you to help  _ me _ , not  _ him _ !”  Jaime objected.

“No.  You don’t want to do that job, you’re doing it because he’s making you do it, to try to hurt me.  Don’t you let him railroad you like that.”

Jaime hung up in frustration.

Afternoons, she spent at the Trout again, till she had to pick up the kids.  She and Catelyn talked, and talked, and Cersei loved looking at her while she was working, little wisps of her red hair escaping her messy bun, her face sometimes smudged with a bit of flour or powdered sugar.  They’d sing together if the crowd was light, sometimes their numbers from the show and sometimes, if they were feeling daring, any old favorites they could think to wheel out of their mental closets.  They talked about Tully Properties and Hoster’s hopes for its futures, and his glee at having a Lannister around to counsel Cat.  Cersei found a peace in the routine of it, and though it couldn’t last forever, she knew, it was exactly what she felt she needed to be doing at this exact moment: not going to work, singing, and spending loads of sloppy, unstructured time with Catelyn Stark.

They hadn’t officially announced anything but the theater folk had noticed their closeness and the fact that arrived and left together at the last few dress rehearsals.  They danced together in their beautiful vintage wear and their lines were delivered with a clarity and rhythmic give and take to rival Rosalind Russell and Coral Browne.  She drove Cat home on the bike a few more times, and their goodnight kisses were getting progressively hotter.  This particular night, she walked Cat to the porch, as she always did, and they stood lip-locked for several extra long minutes under the gold halo of gold the porch lamp.  Cersei’s hands were at Cat’s waist, tugging at her waistband, pulling Cat’s hips tighter against her own.  “Cat,” she whispered, and it was almost a moan.   


Cat sighed a reply, and deepened their kiss.  Cersei let her hand wander up and settle at Cat’s ribcage, her fingers practically tingling with excitement and wanting.  She let her thumb extend and brush at the side of Cat’s soft breast, and she felt her heart damn near explode.  They both stifled a little moan.  “Cat,” she whispered again.

“Can you … can you stay?”  Cat breathed, her voice full of hope.

Cersei nodded.  “I have to go home and make sure the kids get to bed, but I’ll come back,” she said softly. 

Cat bit her lip and then kissed her again quickly.  “Don’t be long,” she teased.  
  
  


***************

  
  


Cersei returned after all the kids were in bed.  Cat let her in quietly through the side door and they sat in the den.  She’d arrived with a bottle of wine, which Cat uncorked and poured for them.  They sat on the couch, sipping, looking at each other with warm eyes full of intention. 

“Now,” Cat demanded, “there is wine.  Is  _ this _ a date?”

Cersei snorted.  “I told you, when it was a date, you’d know it.”

Cat chuckled.  “So you did.”

Cersei set her glass aside and kissed Catelyn, hot and tender.  Their hands roamed a little.  Cersei’s heart fluttered in her chest, her skin crying out for Cat’s touch, everywhere.  Cersei’s fingers crept up as they kissed, working slowly up Cat’s ribcage toward her breast.  She was aching to take her in hand all at once, but she held back.  She’d know when she was ready for that and she wasn’t, quite.  She felt Cat’s fingers flit up and down the row of buttons on her blouse, picking at the top one till it opened.  She felt suddenly, horribly overdressed.  


Their kisses muffled the little sounds of their desire, which was smoldering hotter as the moments passed.  Cat pulled back for a breath.  “Grab the wine.  Let’s go upstairs.”

Cersei followed her upstairs.  Her nerves were sizzling as she watched the back of Cat’s neck, the flexing of her hips as she climbed the stairs.  She followed her into the bedroom, its walls a pale seafoam color that was lit softly from a single lamp beside the bed.  She stood aside, and watched Cat close the door with a quiet “click.”

Cat took her hand and led her over to the edge of the bed, and they sat down next to each other.  They kissed deeply for some minutes, Cat having resumed her slow, careful quest to undo the buttons on Cersei’s blouse.  “Cat,” Cersei whispered.  “I want to touch you.”

“Then do it,” she whispered back.

“I’m afraid of getting it wrong,” Cersei confessed.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Cat smiled, and stroked Cersei’s hair.  “You won’t.”  Understanding dawned in her eyes.  “You were used to Robert, and he wasn’t gentle.”

Cersei gave her a bittersweet smile.   


Cat kissed her chin and whispered, “It doesn’t have to be like that.  Just do what you feel, not what you think you’re supposed to, and it’ll be fine.”  She squeezed Cersei’s shoulder.  “We get to discover each other.   We can stumble and make mistakes and it’s alright, because we’re learning how each other wants to be loved.”

Cersei kissed her again, and this time, she took a deep breath and let herself leap.  She loved this woman.  She wanted to know every inch of her, every swell and curve, every hollow and well, and the only way to do that was to begin.   


Cat was right.  Captain Carter, as it happened, had also been right.  What she and Catelyn shared in that bed was so far removed from anything she’d experienced with Robert, or for that matter anyone before that, that it almost seemed funny that it all qualified as sex.  She touched her and kissed everywhere, because she wanted to, because she needed to, because she had a burning need to know where she loved it best.  At moments, she burned too hot, and Cat gently cooled her off, slowed her down, kissed her to let her know that it was still alright.  At moments, she fumbled. 

_ “No, not like that, darlin’.”   _ __  
_ “No?”   _ __  
_ “No.”   _ __  
_ “Are you sure?”  _ _  
_ __ “I promise you."

But then they laughed softly together and pressed on.  

_ "Here, let me show you.... like this."  
"Oh, mercy.  Well, that is a damn sight better, isn't it?" _

She let Catelyn undress her and slowly plant kisses all over her skin and she had never wanted someone so much as she did right then.  She loved Cat’s long, lean bones and how they felt on top of her.  She loved her soft lips everywhere they touched her.  She loved the ache of wanting and the sweetness of that ache being satisfied.   


It was making love.  And more than that, it was coming home.  She lay for a long time in Cat’s arms when they were done, weeping softly, smiling against Cat’s lips.  “I think I love you, Ms. Stark,” she sighed, her voice wavering a little.

Cat held her tightly.  “Is that right?” she teased gently.  “Well, I just might love you too, Ms. Lannister.”

They nestled against each other.

“We’re gonna do this again, aren’t we, Cat?” 

Cat smiled. “At least twice more,” Cat answered, her voice warm against Cersei’s neck.

“What?”

Cat chuckled.  “Oh, you meant, ever?  I meant tonight.”

Cersei gasped.  “You’re joking,” she exclaimed in a hushed whisper.

“I’m not,” Cat murmured.  “I need to see your face like that again at least two more times tonight before I go to sleep.”

Cersei moaned quietly.  “Lord have mercy.”

If there was any question in her mind before this, it was banished.  Everything was going to be alright.  Better than alright.  Her life was beginning, and what a beginning it was.  And dear Lord, but she was in bed with a beautiful woman who loved her and she could never go back, and could never settle for anything less.

Opening night was three days away.  She was ready.


	37. Meet the Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I can. ;)

**Transcript from local Westeros radio station, two days before opening night:**

_**DJ**  
You are listening to WROS 1701 AM, The Enterprise, for the sounds of Westeros.  This is Nyota Uhura, keeping things interesting on your PM drive time, and today in the studio we have two of the stars of Mame, which opens the County Theater in Westeros in just two days:  Catelyn Stark, who plays socialite Mame Dennis, and Cersei Lannister, who plays her best friend, Vera Charles.  Good evening, ladies._

_**Catelyn**  
Good evening, Ms. Uhura._

_**Cersei**  
Charmed._

_**DJ**  
Now, this is a new turn for both of you, isn’t it?  Musical theater?  Most of the local public knows you both as small business owners, not necessarily as drama people._

_**Cersei**  
Well, I’d say anyone who knows me knows I’m plenty dramatic._

_(laughter)_

_**Cersei**  
But really, I actually did quite a lot of a cappella in college and never did really lose the bug for singing.  It’s all just muscles you know.  Just like riding a bike._

_**DJ**  
I see.  And you, Catelyn?_

_**Catelyn**  
Well, I did quite a bit of musical theater in college myself.  Matter of fact, we did some Stephen Sondheim, which was a real workout._

**_DJ_ **

_Now, what do you suppose is the appeal with a show like Mame, which is considered such an old-school musical?  Do you think that’s something that’s going to reach people where they’re at in an environment where you have shows like Rent and Spring Awakening, which are tackling edgy, controversial topics?_

_**Cersei**  
Cat, do you want to answer?_

_**Cat**  
Well, if I must.  I think that Mame is about family, and love, and intimacy, and I don’t think those are themes that really ever go away.  I think people are always going to respond to stories about found family, because that’s what Mame and Patrick are, more or less,  and that that’s going to resonate in particular nowadays, where there are so many unconventional families… Friend families, for example..._

_**Cersei**  
(clears throat, coughs) ...Blended families…_

_**Cat**  
Not till you buy me a ring._

_(laughter)_

**DJ**  
Now you two are an actual couple, are you not? 

_**Cat**  
Theater brings people together, what can I say._

_**Cersei**  
(whispers) Say yes._

_(laughter)_

_**DJ**  
And how do you suppose that relationship will affect the way that things read on stage?  Do you expect any difficulties there?_

**Cersei**  
Well, now, it’s called acting for a reason, you know.  Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside is Mame’s love interest, and Cat and Bronn really do those scenes brilliantly. 

_**Cat**  
Thank you._

_**Cersei**  
It’s true.  You do.  Doesn’t mean Vera can’t gaze longingly at Mame from the wings, though._

_**Cat**  
You best not, Asha will Simon Cowell you to death._

_(more laughter)_

_**DJ**  
That would be Asha Greyjoy, the director?_

_**Cat**  
That’s right.  We joke, but she’s a great director.  She’s not shy about letting you know when you’ve got it wrong, but she also lets you know when you’ve got it right._

_**DJ**  
Do you think there’s any room in the storytelling for a queer interpretation of Mame and Vera’s relationship?_

_**Cat**  
(sighs)  Oh, I think you can find a queer story in anything if you turn your head and squint hard enough._

_**Cersei**  
That’s how I got her.  I asked her to turn her head and squint._

_**Cat**  
You’re such a liar._

_(laughter)_

_**Cat**  
Hush. (laughter)  But specifically?  I can’t say, really.  I suppose after people watch our scenes together they’ll make up their own minds._

**DJ**  
(laughs)  Thanks for joining me this evening, ladies.  I’m going to go ahead and play the song that Mame and Vera famously sing together, “Bosom Buddies.”  This is the Lucille Ball and Bea Arthur version from 1974.  Stay tuned for more with the stars of “Mame” at the County Theater.  This is Nyota Uhura on 1701 AM, The Enterprise, and we’ll be back right after this.

 

_*****************_

 

**From the Tribune’s website, one night before opening:**

 

 **County Theater Company Breathes New Life Into an Old Classic _  
_** _By Catherine J. Grant_

The preview showing of The County Theater’s production Mame was far more than I went in expecting.  Having spent time in both New York and London, this reviewer has been privy to some of the best productions mounted on stage in the last twenty years.  The County Theater’s “Mame”, while modest in its scale, delivers on its promise of old-style Broadway charm, with a flexible, inventive set design and beautifully crafted costumes that change with the era, so that one always knows when the action is taking place.  (The fake Jackson Pollock that hangs on the wall during the 1950s portion of the show is of particular note.)

The local coffers of talent were clearly overflowing this fall, with Catelyn Stark’s Mame Dennis and Cersei Lannister’s Vera Charles of particular note, standouts in a cast that can only be described as consistently well-chosen.

Catelyn Stark’s performance of Mame is sensitive and at times restrained, and borrows heavily from Rosalind Russell’s non-musical film interpretation of the character.  She musters the wild flamboyance we associate with the character but also, in her interactions with Patrick, surprises from time to time with a gentle charm.  And with a warm, smoky alto that edges into brightness in Mame’s upper registers, she easily outsings Lucille Ball or Angela Lansbury.

Cersei Lannister as Vera is an utter joy whose voice, thank the gods, is incredibly musical.  Most of us familiar with the musical have a fond recollection of Bea Arthur’s Vera, who, while tough, brassy and indelibly of her time, did not have an instrument that was half as delightful to listen to.  This Vera is cool, arch, slinky, and just a little unstable around the edges, and those low, low notes are smooth as velvet.

While Beauregard Jackson Pickett Burnside was well-cast, and both young and adult Patrick were marvelously on-point (in particular young Patrick -- an unconventional casting choice, the spunky fourth grader Lyanna Mormont), the real show by far is the interaction between Mame and Vera.  Their relationship is by turns loving, spiky, salty, and supportive.  The chemistry crackles in nearly every scene, and at times even steals the show from the primary relationship, Mame’s offbeat maternal one with Patrick.  The give and take of their beats has the same quickness and anticipation of each other's rhythms as the best moments of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.  One almost gets the sense that these two actresses were reading off an alternate script entirely, one that was essentially a story about the two of them.

One wonders, though, in today’s world, if we aren’t perhaps ready for a more complex, queer-tinged reading of this play.  Vera’s standout number, performed in shimmering blue silk and chiffon, is called “The Man in the Moon is a Lady.”  With the current culture’s open conversations about gender identity, perhaps there is room to interpret what was meant to be an absurd comedic number as a sweet, sensitive tip of the hat to those who fall at various points on the gender spectrum.  It doesn’t feel like such a leap to imagine the complexities in Mame and Vera’s relationship as springing perhaps from Vera’s romantic jealousy rather than any  professional or social envy.  The ambiguity is lovely and offers a rare opportunity to view a classic show through a new lens, rather than watching the reanimated corpse of yet another old musical trotted around the stage one more time.

Director Asha Greyjoy, who was a stage manager on London’s West End for some years, has mounted several plays at the County over the last half-decade or so, and even when she takes risks, as with her curious choice to cast a man in drag as Eliza Doolittle in “My Fair Lady,” her shows are tightly run ships.  Everything is well-timed and feels intentional.  The performances that she gets from her actors and inevitably sharp and the dialogue contains no wasted breaths, no pregnant pauses that don’t belong there.  She brings a level of snappy professionalism to the proceedings that to is rare to find in local or even regional-level theater company.  Her production of Mame is no exception.

So with such a degree of professionalism, it’s hard to argue that the energy between Mame and Vera is unintentional.  It smacks of a smart director making a choice to take advantage of the leads’ natural chemistry with one another to make the show express something fresh and modern.  If you choose to ignore it, you can still enjoy the show for the predictably likeable old chestnut that it is.  But if you keep your eyes open, and appreciate the way that it colors the proceedings, you’re in for something new and different. 

_Mame opens tomorrow at the County Theater and runs for the next four weekends.  Call the box office for tickets._


	38. Ai, Meu Deus!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I rarely include notes of authorial intent and things like that, but in this case, I'm including the following link. You can play this song if you want, to soak up a little of the atmosphere of the cast party scene at Boca. :)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J-2pHYc7fQg

The applause in the house was more than polite.  It was enthusiastic.  And it made all the sense in the world that it should be, Catelyn thought.  The show couldn’t have gone better if they had had another month to rehearse it.  She and all of her co-stars had each other’s rhythms down, the changes went without error, and the all the songs came off without so much as a bad note.  Standing in front of the ornate proscenium with its gold-leafing that glowed under the house lights, she bowed with the entire cast, then with Bronn, then with Lyanna Mormont and Aurane Waters, her child and adult Patricks, and then with Cersei.

Cersei surprised her after their bow by taking Cat, dipping her, and planting a kiss on her, which sent the audience into a spasm of cheering and laughter.  She was beautiful under the lights, Cat thought, looking at Cersei as she swept her back upright.  How did she get to have this one?  It was becoming clear now the extent of communal meddling that had been required to make it happen, particularly on the part of Oberyn, but also including both of their immediate families and their significant others, Renly Baratheon, the Tyrells, Wylla Manderly (who had been reporting back to Oberyn on the regularity of their White Harbor lunches together), Jaime Lannister’s war buddy Captain Carter, and god knew who else.  It made her shake her head in amazement as she kissed Cersei once more, briefly on the lips, and then the full cast took their final bow.    


She felt Cersei’s hand tighten around hers, and she glanced up.  She saw Tywin Lannister at the back of the theater, watching with an unreadable expression.  He stood aloof from the rest of the crowd, hanging back near the rear door, and then left after a moment.  Cat turned and met Cersei’s eyes, and saw them flashing with defiance.

Her look said one thing, clear as the fire of stars on a cool evening:  this night belonged to them.  There was nothing he could do to take it away.  They collected the roses that had been placed on the stage for them by friends and family, cleared the room, and went to get changed for the cast party at Boca Bistro.

  
  


*********

  
  


Oberyn had closed Boca for the night and rearranged the tables, pushing them all outward toward the wall to clear a dance floor in the middle.  He’d brought in a group of Brazilian acoustic musicians he was fond of, and they played a mix of samba, maracatu, forro, and the occasional bit of Brazilian rock.  They had the room cooking almost instantly, and with the house wines flowing and the trays of tapas streaming from the back of the kitchen, it was immediately evident that it was the kind of party everyone was going to remember for a good while.

Even Asha, after her second wine, was in a good mood, and grabbed Olenna for a few rounds about the dance floor, and Oberyn heard her mutter something to the grande dame of Westeros about promising her the moon, which Olenna would later neither confirm nor deny.

Snow, relieved at being able to change after having had to spend so much time in jeans and work boots for the last few months, had switched to a pretty blue party dress, and was sitting on Ygritte’s lap in the corner, feeding her rice and manchego croquettes.  Bronn was drinking heavily and flirting with all five of Oberyn’s daughters.  Agnes Gooch and Gloria Upson were tangoing around with roses between their teeth.  Gendry and Arya were arm wrestling, which was absurd, but entertaining.  Arya’s strategy mostly consisted of losing, while attempting to get Gendry progressively drunker until he was inebriated enough for her to beat him.

Cat and Cersei sat together at a table in the back, a little way from the hubbub, hands tangled across the top of the small, candlelit table.  “Are you alright?” Cat asked her.

Cersei nodded.  “I didn’t think he’d show.”

“What do you think it means?”

Cersei shrugged.  “Maybe nothing.  But… he did seem aware, when we spoke, of a great deal of what was going on with the show.  I’d always assumed he was very hands-off with the theater.  Maybe he was just coming to see his investment in action.”

Cat shook her head.  “I’d like to think it’s more than that.”

Cersei’s lip trembled, for just a moment.  “I don’t dare hope.”  She gazed deeply into Cat’s eyes.  “But it doesn’t matter.  I have you, and I have my freedom.  Any more good that comes to me after this is just gravy.”  She stroked the back of Cat’s hand with her thumb, and smiled at her.  “You don’t know what you’re in for, Cat, being the object of my affections.”

Cat responded with a playful pout.  “Oh no, whatever shall I do?”

Cersei leaned forward, kissed her softly, and said, “Dance with me.”

The band dug into an infectious beat and the singer began to work the crowd, teaching them the song’s simple refrain, which they picked up immediately and shouted back with drunken abandon:

__ “Ai, meu Deus!  
Ai, meu Deus!  
O que é que há?”

Cat and Cersei hit the floor with a vengeance, moving together with the sizzling pulse of the music.  Cat was loosened up just enough after a few glasses of wine to not care that they were the center of attention the minute they began dancing.  And how could they not be?  They danced close enough to feel each other’s rhythms, bodies brushing against each other and hips moving restlessly to each other’s sinuous steps.  The song had the room stomping and clapping along, shouting the refrain, despite the fact that nobody in the room spoke Portuguese, and they were belting it out along with the band while Cat and Cersei danced:    


__ “Ai, meu Deus!  
Ai, meu Deus!  
O que é que há?”

Cersei spun Cat out, and then drew her back in so that she holding Cat from behind, with an arm around her waist.  Cat flung an arm up over her shoulder and hooked her hand around the back of Cersei’s neck.  They moved together, clearly wrapped up in each other, exuding such a mix of affection and joy and desire, that anyone would be moved to stop and watch for a moment.  Their breaths shallow, they were grinning, performing for each other, mostly, but also to the crowd and their lusty shouts of:

__ “Ai, meu Deus!  
Ai, meu Deus!  
O que é que há?”

Cersei spun her out again and then drew her back in so that they were face to face.  She leaned down as they danced, her face lit with a look that told Cat that she was already thinking about going home with her again, to make good use of what she’d learned a few nights ago.

“So,” Cat sighed breathlessly, clearly enamored with this idea, “is  _ this _ a date?”

“Hm,” Cersei answered, her green eyes dancing, “I don’t think so.”

“There’s wine,” Cat protested.  “We’re dancing.”

“It’s a party, though.  Too many people.” Cersei objected, “I’m not sure that counts.”

The music stopped, and Cersei dipped her once, pulled her upright, and kissed her, warm and sweet.  Their friends applauded.  Cat laughed.  “Fine, then.  You let me know when it’s a date.”

“I hope we never have a date,”  Cersei murmured in her ear as she embraced her.  “I just want to spend all my time with you.”

They kissed again.

Catelyn sighed.  “You win.”

  
  
  


******

  
  


Olenna had taken note of Tywin Lannister, standing outside the front window of the restaurant, peering in at the goings-on.  After he remained there for several moments, she strolled outside, leaned against the window, lit a joint, and faced him.

He looked archly at her.  “Don’t tell me that’s a marijuana cigarette.”

“Does a body good,” she sniffed.  “I’ve got arthritis, you know.”

He harrumphed.

They stood in silence for a moment while Olenna puffed away and Tywin watched through the window.  “She’s rather fetching, that Catelyn Stark,” he observed.

Olenna grunted an assent.    


“The way she looks at Cersei…”  He trailed off.

“Remind you of anything?” she prodded with a droll little smile.

He deigned to give her a bit of side-eye.    


Olenna noted the bouquet in his hand, which hung loose at his side.  “You ever plan on giving your daughter those flowers?”

He harrumphed.  “It appears to be a closed party.”

She took an inhale of her joint.  “I can send her out.”   She exhaled and watched the smoke curl around itself in the damp night.  “That is, of course, unless you intend on acting like a damn fool.  She’s had quite enough of that from you.”

Tywin gave her a silent look that was not quite so frosty as it had been earlier.  “I want to give these to her and congratulate her, and then I’ll be on my way .”

“Well, I’d call that a bare minimum, but I suppose it’ll do.  You’ll be on training wheels for a good while, I reckon.”

“Training wheels?  I beg your pardon?”

She took one last hit and exhaled before stubbing her joint out on the doorframe.  “Your human decency training wheels.”  She dropped the roach into her massive Kate Spade purse and commanded, “Wait here.”

  
  


******

  
  


Catelyn was less than pleased that Tywin was outside, but Cersei insisted on going.  She walked out the door, and stood in front of him in the cool evening.  “Why’d you come here?”

He held up the flowers.  “I wanted to give you these.  Thought it might throw you off if I gave it to you at the theater.”

“Well, you thought right.”  She hesitated, then took them.  Alstromeria.  She favored them.  “You get these from Tyrell’s?”

He nodded.  “Margaery suggested you were fond of them.”

She looked at him for a long moment, listening to the muffled thudding of the music inside the restaurant.  “Thank you.”  And then, after an uncomfortable pause, “So?  Did you have something to say to me?”

He looked at her, his face unreadable in the harsh white light from the lamplight in the parking lot.  “Yes.  You did well.  I wanted you to know that.”

“Thank you,” she said, still cool and polite.

“I wasn’t aware that you had inherited my vocal talents.”

She froze and looked askance at him.  “Daddy, how can you not remember, I went to four national championships with the Barden Bellas and–”  She broke off.  “What do you mean,  _ your _ vocal talents?”

“Well,” he answered, clearing his throat, “you didn’t think you got that golden voice from your mother, did you?”

Her mouth dropped open.  “I’d always assumed…”

“Well, you’ve assumed wrong.  Like you, I attended Barden.  I went for two years before moving to Yale and then Wharton.”  He adjusted his collar.  “I accompanied the Treblemakers to a handful of championships myself, you know.”

Cersei shook her head.  This was too much to process.  “But … but you always said you’d bought this theater for Mama because she loved the theater…”

Tywin nodded.  “Loved it, yes.  She loved musical theater.  But she couldn’t carry a tune if you handed it to her in a bucket.  No, I was the singer in the family.  How do you think I won her heart in the first place?”

Her eyes, inexplicably, suddenly, welled up.  “Daddy… why did you never tell me that?  Why did you never sing for me?  Why haven’t we…. All this time, we could have been….”  She broke off.  It was too much information to take in all at once.

Tywin’s squinted, looking genuinely uncomfortable with the emotion both from her and within himself.  “I made choices. It's time I took stock of them.”

Cersei shook her head.  “I … I can’t do this with you right now, but–”

Tywin coughed.  “Yes, of course, go back inside and celebrate your triumph.  I’ve reconsidered my decisions, though, I want you to know that.  You can have the loan office back.  Perhaps I spoke too rashly.”

She shook her head.  “I appreciate that, but I don’t want it.  We’ll talk about it later.”  She turned and started to push the door open.    


He grabbed her wrist.  “You are still my daughter,” he declared hoarsely, his face suddenly fierce with emotion.  “You are a Lannister.  Nothing else matters.”

A few tears trickled out the corners of her eyes and she pulled her hand free of him to wipe them away.  It wasn’t everything, but it wasn’t nothing, either.

“She’s a handsome woman,” he went on, almost sounding desperate to keep the conversation going.  “You seem happy.”

She gave him a pained smile.  “I am.”  She patted his shoulder.  “We’ll talk later.  Goodnight, Daddy.”

She went back inside.  Cat embraced her.  “Is it alright?”

Cersei smiled.  “No, but… I think it will be, eventually.”   She leaned in and laid a kiss just below Cat’s ear.  “Come on, now,” she whispered.  “Dance with me again.”


	39. Red and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna wait but tbh I couldn't so I'm dropping the last bit now. Here it is. I love you all and thanks for following along in this journey, it's been so much fun. I hope this ending satisfies your heart to read it like it did mine to write it. ;)

**One Year Later**

 

 _“I went down by the riverside_  
 _That runs between the_ hazel'd _halls_  
 _And on an apple-blossomed hill_  
 _I slept beside the golden falls_

_And as I wandered far in sleep_   
_The fisher king flashed blue on gray_   
_I heard a voice come from the deep_   
_And call my name from far away_

_Rain won't wash away the memories_   
_And the wind won't hide her perfume_   
_But it blows_

_I linger by the western sea_   
_I hear the horseman riding past_   
_Young dreams I dreamt are gone from me_   
_Like summer whispers in the grass_

_Rain won't wash away the memories_   
_And the wind won't hide her perfume_   
_But it blows_

_Rain won't wash away the memories  
And the wind won't hide her perfume.”_

 

As the last note faded, Tywin smiled sadly.  He looked around at the ring of younger men around him, all clad in kilts of grey tartan, as tradition demanded; Robb Stark, Joffrey, Oberyn Martell, and his own sons, Jaime and Tyrion.  Snow, as well, wore a kilt, with hair pulled back into a ponytail.  Tywin hadn’t lied to his daughter, he did have a golden voice, and the Scottish lament he sang demanded a moment of reverent silence.  They all raised their glasses of whisky, and toasted.  He glanced around.  “All right, then.  Martell, where’s my daughter?”

Cersei emerged from the back of the mansion, in a white lace dress, her golden hair swept up off her neck.  She held a hammer in one hand.  “Daddy, you needn’t sing something so sad.  This is a happy day, you know.”

Tywin sighed, and approached his daughter.  He took her face in between hands and gazed at her for a moment.  “I wish your mother could have been here for this.  She would have been pleased to see you this happy.”

They shared a moment of silence for Joanna Lannister. 

Then he glanced down and noticed the hammer in her hand.  “What on earth are you doing with that?”

“Oh,” she replied breezily, “well, there was a loose plank on the arbor, so I was just hammering it in, so that the whole damn thing wouldn’t–”

He held up a hand and stopped her.  “I suspect you’re showing off for your bride to be,” he interrupted. 

She blushed, but didn’t deny it.  

 

******

 

Inside, Catelyn stood at the mirror, fussing and fussing and fussing.  Sansa was at her side, helping her reapply makeup that she’d wiped off a few moments ago, fearing she’d perhaps overdone it.  “Now Mom,” she said soothingly, “no more playing around with the makeup, alright?  You’re beautiful.  You look beautiful.  And she looks at you like you hung the stars anyway, she wouldn’t care if you went down there in sweatpants.”

“Oh, well, maybe I should, then,”  Cat snapped.

Sansa rubbed her mother’s back.  “Mom, stop.  Now, Ms. Florent is on her way up with a couple of things that you need, and–”

A knock at the door.  Sansa peered out.  It was Selyse.  She stood aside and let her in.

Selyse looked at Cat and chuckled. “You look like a cat surrounded by rocking chairs.”

Cat made a face.

Sansa shook her head.  “Did you bring everything?”

Selyse nodded.  “Margy Tyrell gave me your bouquet,” she began, handing the bundle of exotic lilies and trailing greenery to Sansa.  Then she swung her purse around and opened it.  “Now, the lot of us put our heads together, and here’s what we’ve got….”

She fished out a silver anklet with a tiny charm of a music note.  “Here’s your something new.  It’s a little gift from myself and Stannis.”

Cat raised an eyebrow.  “So it’s true, then?  You’ve gotten back together?”

Selyse nodded.  “I’ll tell you the whole story later.”  She dug into the bag again.  “Now, you’ve got to know that your something blue came from Olenna, because I sure as hell wouldn’t be giving you anything so bold….”  She pulled out a frilly blue satin garter trimmed with lace.  “And you best put it on because you know she’ll have no qualms with checking.”

Cat blushed and took the first two items.  “Thank you.”

“Now,” she sighed.  She reached up and took off the pearl earrings she wore.  “You’d better give these back, ‘cause I’m fond of them, but these are your something borrowed.”

She dropped them into Cat’s palm. 

Sansa plucked them out of her mother’s hand and began putting them on her.  “What about the something old?”

“Oh, that ought to be along any moment now,” Selyse answered casually.  As she said this, there came another knock at the door.  She marched over and cracked it open.

“Who’s there?”  asked Catelyn.  She couldn’t see.

“It’s Cersei, which is why I’m not opening the damn door.  She’s not supposed to see you.”

Cat shivered a little.  She watched Selyse’s back for a moment as she reached out and took something from Cersei through the very small opening.

“Selyse,” she called, “do you think Cersei and I could have a moment?”

Selyse turned around with her hands on her hips.  “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding... whichever one of you that is,” she added with a note of good humor.

Catelyn sighed.  “Look, we’ll talk through the door, alright?  You and Sansa just scoot for a few minutes, won’t you?”

Not entirely satisfied that Catelyn wasn’t endangering the fortunes of the entire proceedings, Selyse and Sansa nevertheless traipsed out the door and down the stairs.  Cat leaned against the door.  “What did you give Selyse for my something old?”

“My mother’s pearl necklace,” Cersei’s voice came slightly muffled through the door.

Cat knew without asking how meaningful an item that was for her to share.  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wear your mother’s pearls yourself?”

“Cat,” she answered, “why wouldn’t I want you wearing something that close to my heart?”

“Well, I …”  She didn’t have an answer.  “I _have_ something old,” she said after a moment.  “This house.  I can’t imagine a greater gift than this.  You let me come home again.”

Cersei had been true to her word, and not gone back to the loan office.  She’d actually spent the better part of every day for the last year at Riverrun, restoring it to its former glory.  It was too much to do on her own, so she engaged Snow’s help on the weekends, and eventually, after a few months, called the university and brought in Thor Odinson and his prize protege, Brienne Tarth, from the carpentry and restorations department.  Some of what needed to be done, after all, required the touch of real carpenters and stone masons.  She’d poured her sweat and her heart into it, and pored over old pictures from Hoster’s photo albums, and had restored the damn thing near as she could to what it looked like before.  And now she and Cat and their respective broods would be moving into the place; one giant, chaotic, strange, wonderful family.

“But Cat,” she answered, “I’m coming home for the first time.  And… you did that.”

Cat’s eyes welled up a little and she did her best to fight it because Sansa would be frustrated if she had to reapply that eye makeup one more time.  “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

“Say you’ll wear the damn pearls,” Cersei replied, tart and sweet all at once.

Cat laughed.  “Alright, you win.”

They paused for a moment.  “I’m meant to go have a whiskey with your boys before the ceremony.  I must say, they do look fine in those Stark family tartans.”

Cat sighed.  “Alright, you.”

Another pause.  “I love you, Cat.”

“I love you.”

“I’m ready for this.”

“I am too.”

Then Selyse’s voice came trailing from down the hall:  “Alright, that’ll do, now.  I’d say we we’ve pushed our luck quite enough with this.  Off you go, Cersei.”

“I’ll see you downstairs!”  Cersei called, her voice growing softer as she was clearly hustled away from the door.  “I can’t wait!”

 

******

 

Tyrell’s had not only redone the landscaping for the new and improved estate, but had done all the florals for the wedding, which had quickly taken on the moniker “The Rainbow Wedding” among friends and family.   Margaery had wound hanging lavender and wisteria around the lattice of the arbor that Cersei had built for the occasion, just a few feet over from the oak that overlooked the river.  She’d also done tasteful arrangements for all the tables in the large tent that was set back a little way from the house.

The guest list was about two hundred, and included family and friends and about half the theater crew.  Oberyn had been chosen to officiate, since, as everyone eventually confessed to their own little role in the dastardly plot to get them together, nobody short of Sansa had worked as hard to make it happen or had as much faith in their potential to love one another.  So he’d signed onto the Universal Life Church website, gotten himself ordained within minutes, and was going to marry the two of them.  Catelyn suspected that he was partly on board because he was legitimately honored to do it, but also partly because he was terribly amused at having a CLERGY sticker for his car and could now park wherever he liked when he drove down into Atlanta, where parking was scarce.

Nevertheless, when the string quartet struck up, and the bridal parties began to proceed toward the arbor, nobody would mistake his expression as anything but genuinely moved at being allowed to be part of this.

Shireen Baratheon appeared first, with Rickon by her side.  She was flower girl, and he was ring bearer, and they walked side by side while she spread white rose petals down the aisle and Rickon struggled to keep his silk pillow with the two rings steady.  If one looked, it was evident that Shireen was whispering calm, sweet encouragement to him the entire way down.  He would later announce that he would be walking down an aisle again with her at some point when they were both older.

Behind them came the bridal parties:  for Cersei, there was Joffrey, Tyrion, and then Jaime and Captain Carter, both in their dress uniforms.  For Cat, there was Arya, Sansa, Robb and Snow.  They were paired off by age and so Joffrey and Arya walked together, then Sansa and Captain Carter, then Tyrion and Snow, and finally Jaime and Robb.  Sansa wouldn’t learn until much later that the decision to pair them off by age rather than by height was a ploy of Arya’s, executed with assistance from Joffrey, and had been undertaken for the sole purpose of pairing Sansa off with Captain Carter and watching to see if she swooned over the dashing brunette in her RAF dress greys.  (She did.)

They stood in an open semi-circle in front of the arbor where Oberyn waited.  After the two bridal parties had positioned themselves, the string quartet struck up with Ode to Joy (nobody, they agreed, needed “Here Comes the Bride” yet again, and it wasn’t even appropriate since there were two brides).  Everyone watched as Catelyn and Cersei emerged from opposite wings of the house, and met in the center where the aisle cut through the rows of folding chairs.

Cat’s knees went weak when she saw Cersei, radiant and head over heels in love, taking in the vision that was Cat in her pale green silk gown.  They stopped for a moment, overwhelmed.  Margaery had designed them matching flower crowns with wildflowers that she cultivated specially for just such a use (Cat harbored a suspicion that Margaery probably made herself flower crowns in her own spare time for amusement), and their faces looked as though they were haloed by the white and gold bursts of their petals.  They both released the breath they’d been holding as their fathers appeared on either side of them, and just in time too, because they were both knocked breathless at the sight of each other and needed to hold onto someone so as to stay on their feet. 

The river gurgled gently and the breezes tugged at wisps of their hair and their skirts, as their fathers escorted them to the arbor, fragrant and splendid with Margaery’s hanging flowers.  Oberyn greeted them with a warm smile. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, addressing the assembled, “it is a great, great honor for me to be here, serving in this capacity today.  As it so happens, while I have led a very long and varied life, I have never before been asked to perform a wedding ceremony.  So, take it easy on me if I screw up a little.”  A wave of polite chuckling.  He took a deep breath.  “I’ve known Cersei for a very long time.  Even before I moved to Westeros, she and I attended the same prep school, and the same college.  I’ve had a chance to watch her around other people for a long time.  And I’m sure I don’t have to tell anyone who really knows her, the change that I’ve seen in her over this last year.”

He looked around.  “Now, while Catelyn is a native to Westeros, she only just moved back here recently after a very long absence, so I’ve only had the pleasure of knowing her for a comparatively short time.  But from the beginning, I was always impressed with her;  her strength, her love of family, her willingness to fight for what she feels is right.  Her capacity for acceptance and kindness.  So, naturally,” he said with a grin, “I thought, you know what, let me set her up with grumpy Cersei.”

Another wave of polite chuckling.

“Now, most of you know Olenna Tyrell, the Flower Queen, eh?  Well, I’ll tell you, I’ve forgotten most of what she’s told me about flowers, but there was one thing she taught me, and it stuck with me.  And it’s this… Not all flowers bloom in springtime.  Seems like an obvious thing to say, but it’s easy to forget.  Because when it’s springtime, we notice all the flowers that are blooming, not the ones that aren’t.  Now, I knew Cersei in springtime.  She was lonely, she didn’t let people in, she was angry.  I was as much a friend to her as I knew how to be, but she was closed up tight.”  He held his hand up in fist.  “I knew, even then, I could see, that there was beauty in her.  In college, she was in the a cappella group and when she sang, her incredible potential was as obvious as the sun in the sky.  But in her day to day, she was hard to get close to.  She was as thorny as one of Olenna’s prize roses.  Because it wasn’t Cersei’s destiny, I guess, to bloom in springtime.”

He looked around.  “I knew Cersei in summer, when she came back to Westeros after college, and married Robert Baratheon, and had three beautiful children that are all turning out so wonderfully because of the way that she’s raising them.  But still, she was closed off.”  He paused, making eye contact with Cersei.  “I know you used to get annoyed with me, Cersei, because I was always hanging around, trying to look out for you, but the truth was, I couldn’t wait to see what you’d become when you finally opened up.  But it wasn’t your destiny to bloom in summer, either.”

Cersei smiled wryly.

“And then I met Catelyn Stark.   We all know they got off to a rough start, their children were fighting in school and Catelyn was not about to back down from defending her daughter and Cersei was not about to back down from defending her son.  Everyone looked, and that was all they saw.  But I saw two sides of a coin.  I saw two women who had lost their husbands and were raising families and running businesses on their own.  Two women with big hearts, capable of great caring; but one had the ability to show it, and one struggled.  Two women filled with passion; but one had never truly known love, and the other never thought she would again.  And that was when I thought, maybe, if they can see past their differences, they could each be exactly what the other needed.”

He raised a finger.  “A lot of you thought I was crazy at first, including my wife.  Oberyn, she’d say to me, get off the phone with Wylla Manderly and come to bed, who cares if those two women had lunch together again?”  Some scattered laughter.  “But you all came around, and so many of you at this wedding played some part, large or small, in helping to move the ball down the field.  A part of me wishes, Cersei, that you could have found each other sooner.  As your friend, it would have pleased me very much to see you this happy twenty years ago.  But, we can’t determine the paths of our lives, and the paths of yours led you to each other at a time when you were both available..”

“Autumn is when the the world is at its most beautiful, when the trees are alive with red…”  He looked at Cat.  “....and gold.”  He looked at Cersei, and smiled.  “When something is this beautiful, how can we possibly argue that it wasn’t worth the wait?  You opened, you became who you were always meant to be, and now the world can see what was always folded up inside you.  Your destiny was to be an autumn bloom, and I am so pleased, and so proud, to have been allowed to play the role I have played in watching the two of you, and your love, flower and grow in the autumn of your lives.”

He took their hands, and wrapped a velvet cord around them.  “And so, it is my honor to join you together in the bonds of matrimony.  Cersei, will you take this woman, to love, honor and cherish, in sickness and in health, in the best and worst of times, as long as you both shall live?”

Cersei bit her lip and nodded.  “I do.”

“And you, Cat?  Do you take this woman, to love, honor and cherish, in sickness and health, in the best and worst of times, as long as you both shall live?”

Cat took a deep breath.  “I do!”  she said, just a little too loudly.

Oberyn chuckled.  He then turned to Rickon, who stood proudly in his little kilt, holding the pillow.  “Have you the rings?” he asked the boy.

Rickon very slowly, carefully stepped forward and held up the pillow.  Jaime took the ring meant for Cat, Sansa the one meant for Cersei.  “Cersei, will you place the ring on Catelyn’s finger?”

Cersei took the ring from Jaime’s hand.  He smiled at her and gave her a faint nod, as if to say, _Go for it, girl._ She placed it on Cat’s finger. 

Sansa handed her mother the ring meant for Cersei, and Cat took it with trembling fingers, and placed it on Cersei.

Oberyn nodded with satisfaction.  “With these rings, you have a symbol of your eternal devotion to one another.  And so, by the power vested in me by the state of Georgia, the Universal Life Church, and the clergy sticker on my car, I am absolutely overjoyed to pronounce the two of you married.  You may seal it with a kiss.”

They embraced, and kissed, to great applause and cheering and hooting.  They’d kissed hundreds of times by now, but this one marked the beginning their life together, their shared path, their shared home and family.  They faced the world now together, as an army, as a team. 

They had bloomed together in autumn.  And they had no fear of winter.

 


End file.
